Big Time Criminal
by ThatGuy21
Summary: Logan's quiet suburban life is changed when he has no choice but to shelter Kendall, a young fugitive, hiding from his past. The two seemingly opposite pair spark an unconventional relationship. What happens when logic is overpowered by an inexplicable and undeniable love?
1. A Storm Is Coming

**A/N: So back around the time when I was working on "Big Time Love Story", I happened to have an idea pop up. I was listening to "Criminal" by Britney Spears, and I just thought, 'Hey, wouldn't it be cool if someone made a Kogan story based off this song?' And after thinking about it some more, I decided I should just write one myself! I immediately started drafting some ideas and everything started coming out so organically, and what I loved was that it was (and is) so different than any other Kogan story I've written. I love the idea of a sheltered character (Logan), who goes through life without actually _living_ it, but meets a guy (Kendall) that changes his life. It's the stereotypical guy-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks type of story, but with a Kogan spin on it.**

**I put it aside for a long time because I had other Kogan stories I wanted to write, but I always went back to this story whenever I got a chance. It's still a work-in-progress, because I'm always revising and editing, but I'm very excited to finally be able to share this story, starting with this first chapter.**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Criminal" by Britney Spears

"Vaporize" by Broken Bells

**For "Criminal" I actually didn't use it as inspiration so much for this chapter, but as I mentioned above, the song really gave inspiration to the whole story. For "Vaporize" though, I really thinks it soundtracks this chapter nicely, almost like an opening theme. I also chose it for the lyrics. It's about living life to the fullest, which really suits Logan's character who lives this very methodical and routine lifestyle. The lines _It's not too late/To feel more alive/Make our escape/Before we start to vaporize_, are very fitting to how things will unfold for our characters, especially Logan.**

**Anyway, I think I'm most excited but yet most nervous about this story, just because it's so different than what you all may be used to reading from me, so please REVIEW and let me know what you think! Enjoy!**

* * *

'Cause mama, I'm in love with a criminal,

And this type of love isn't rational,

It's physical,

Mama, please don't cry, I will be alright,

All reason aside,

I just can't deny,

I love that guy.

* * *

_I was never one to believe in fate. Nor was I one to believe in predestined lives. I never allowed myself to think that a single person could shape my entire life, that is, until I actually met someone who could…_

**PROLOGUE**

The Buick barrels down the seemingly endless highway; down the open road that seems to lead to everywhere and yet nowhere particular at all. We had no plans and no clue as to what we were doing, where we were going. The sirens on the police cruisers wail as they charge toward us. My heart races as fast as our moving getaway vehicle. My heart pounds as furiously as the roaring engine. I look over anxiously at the beautiful blonde that had come into my life almost out of nowhere. I study his furrowed brows, his distinct intensity, his unmistakable conflict of what he would do with me. I feared for many things, but yet oddly none of them had anything to do with my safety. I recall the events that led me into this mess…

* * *

I sit in class as bored as a person can be. The only excitement I can generate within myself is from knowing that school will be over in a matter of minutes. I anxiously and impatiently watch the hands of the clock move, which feels agonizingly slow today. I glance over at our teacher, Mr. Rocque, making sure he isn't asking me a question. I have a bad habit of tuning him out, but that's only because his lessons are monotonous and he has a knack for droning on and on. He also has a bad temper and takes pleasure in assigning extra homework when he gets frustrated with us. Luckily, he is in one of his "better" moods. I can't help but stare at the sweat beads that always seem to form above his brow and the pit stains that have seeped through his buttoned up shirt. _Why does he sweat so much?_ I constantly think to myself. Apparently I have nothing better to do.

I look back at the clock. Did any time even pass at all? Other than the red moving second hand, the clock looks to be stuck in time. I let out a quiet sigh and doodle on the corner of my homework, which I've already finished. I feel like school isn't even a challenge anymore. It doesn't excite me like it used to. In fact, nothing really excites me. Not this school, not this town, certainly not this weather. I look outside and see that it's still overcast with the looming grey clouds threatening to release rain at any moment. I understand we're in April, so rain is to be expected, especially living in Minnesota, but for once I wish we could have the sun come out for more than just a few minutes.

I look back at the clock. Barely a minute has passed. Another bored sigh escapes. I then alternate between glancing at Mr. Rocque, the clock, and _him_… By him, I mean James Diamond—the one person that makes coming to school bearable. He is, without a doubt, my school boy crush. In fact, he has been since the second grade. I hate myself for being so predictable; the awkward quiet bookworm pining over the popular good-looking jock—how cliché, I know.

But, if anyone actually could see James Diamond in person, they would understand my attraction. James Diamond—as I always refer to him by his full name for some odd reason—has movie-star good looks with a movie-star-like name. There isn't a single flaw I can find on him. I study his features, because he is so devastatingly handsome that my mortal eyes demand it. I'm not sure a person could look as beautiful as he does. I study his masculine jawline that's contrasted by the soft features of his lips and eyes. His lips look soft and warm, and when he smiles his pearly white teeth sparkle.

His eyes are just as mesmerizing. They're a distinct hazel that gleam even under the poor florescent lighting of the classroom—how fitting for a guy with the last name Diamond. His nose is a perfectly straight line and his hair is a luminous dark brown. I swear when he turns his head his hair flips in slow-motion. Yes, indeed… there really is not a single flaw I could pick out on James Diamond even if I tried.

I also can't help but admire his perfect grace and confidence. Even the way he's slouching in his chair appears to be graceful. I glance back at his lips and imagine, as I always do, what it would be like to kiss him. I bite my lower lip when my fantasy begins to get a little too steamy… Suddenly, James Diamond looks over at my direction. I immediately look down at my notebook, and pretend to be taking notes. My cheeks turn a deep red. I'm not even positive that he caught me looking at him, but I'm too embarrassed by the thought alone. I don't want to risk looking at him again.

To my luck though, the bell rings and everyone immediately grabs their things and gets up. I follow suit and head for the door, making an effort not to look over at James Diamond.

I go to my locker to lighten the weight of my backpack. When I turn around, I bump right into James Diamond. I turn red and scramble to pick up my notebook.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

"Don't be. I'm the one that bumped into you, Nathan," he apologizes incorrectly. At least his apology sounded sincere, even if he did call me the wrong name.

"Uh, it's Logan actually…" I correct quietly.

I barely make eye contact, because I know I'll be too speechless when I look into those hazel eyes of his.

"Oh, right. Sorry, Logan," he smiles.

I give him a weak half smile and watch as he walks over to where his girlfriend has been waiting. I see him kissing his girlfriend, who's—what else?—popular, blonde, a cheerleader, and most notably, not me.

The saddest part is this would probably be the most James Diamond will talk to me all year.

I watch the kids with money pull out of the school lot in their shiny expensive cars, while most others take the bus, and some waiting to be picked up by their parents. Me on the one hand, I'm one of the few that walks home every day. That's what happens when you have a single mother working double shifts at a hospital.

I barely make it to the corner of the school when James Diamond flies by me in his glossy red convertible, girlfriend in tow and all. His convertible rooftop comes down, and I instinctively glance up at the sky. The grey clouds looking even more menacing and I hear them rumble. Then a raindrop lands on my left cheek. And almost immediately more drops fall and, within seconds, it's a full-on rainstorm.

I curse under my breath and begin running, which is pointless because I'll only get soaked faster. Luckily, I don't live too terribly far from the school, but far enough that I do wish at times that I own a car, especially on days like this. No such luck though, because my mom refuses to let me have one, even though I've had my learner's permit for close to a year now. I'm only allowed to get behind the wheel when I'm running errands with her, which usually ends up with her critiquing everything I'm doing. Sometimes I just wish I could get into a car and _go_… Go anywhere; anywhere but here.

It's not that I want to be away from my mom, because I don't. Especially since my dad left us years ago, I couldn't bear to think of walking out on her, as well. But sometimes I do dream of running off to somewhere where no one knows me. Somewhere I can have a fresh start, a new life. Of course, that's only in fantasy… I know the real world doesn't quite work that way. Society expects you to be a good boy, eat your veggies, study hard, go to college, land a career, and eventually marry a woman and have kids, so you can all live in a white picket-fenced house. I just remind myself to go through the motions for my mom, because she and I are all that the two of us have.

I continue running through the pouring rain. My running strides only cause the puddles that have formed to splash and slosh even more. But I ignore it since my shoes and socks are thoroughly soaked now anyway. I cut through my neighborhood, which is tucked in our quiet suburb. I may not have the excessive luxuries of someone like James Diamond, but I can't complain.

I run around the corner of our street and relief washes over me when I'm just a few yards from our house. I run under the dry porch and instantly shake my body to rid the excess water. I pull my house key that's attached to a lanyard out of my soaked backpack. I open the screen door and rush inside to a drier—and warmer—space.

And by routine, I press the blinking red button on our answering machine that sits on a table in the foyer, and listen to the voice messages. I don't even know why we have a home phone, especially since both my mom and I have perfectly operable cell phones. But my mom insists that we keep a home phone. I guess it's a generational thing.

I begin to take off my drenched layers of clothes as I half-listen to the messages, which are almost always from my mom, the occasional solicitors, Nana if it's one of our birthdays, and no one else. The machine beeps and begins to play back the recordings. My mom's voice comes on as I expected.

"_Logan, sweetie, it's Mom,"_ she says like always. I mean, really, who else does she think I'd confuse her to be? _"I just wanted to let you know that I'll probably be home late again tonight. One of the new nurses called out, can you believe it?_ _Anyway, sweetie, if you can make dinner tonight that'd be great. Alright, I love you and I'll see you for dinner._"

I roll my eyes because this always happens. The annoying part is that I'm used to this routine of ours. She'll call and tell me she'll be home late and that I'll probably have to make dinner, which is usually okay with me anyway. Let's just say my mom's not the best cook. Things tend to get overlooked and therefore end up extra crispy verging on burnt. And I actually kind of enjoy cooking. It gives me a sense of purpose and something to do to pass the time, especially since I usually end up finishing my homework at school.

The machine beeps after her voicemail ends and notifies me there are no other new messages. I hit the delete button and continue stripping out of my clothes as I head for my bedroom. I pat myself dry with a clean towel and rummage through my dresser. I pick up a t-shirt and toss it on. I replace my wet pants with some sweat shorts. It feels great to be in warm dry clothes. I listen to the rain pound against my bedroom window. Good thing I didn't leave it open this morning.

I take all my wet clothes, as well as the dirty clothes in my hamper, and carry them into our laundry room. I throw them into the washer, add some detergent, and start the wash cycle. While that goes, I wash my hands and begin prepping dinner.

I pull out some pork cutlets that have defrosted, as well as the other ingredients I need. I begin to boil some potatoes to make mashed potatoes later on. Then I get the cutlets lightly floured, into an egg wash, and then covered in breadcrumbs, before I start frying them in a pan. They sizzle almost immediately and the kitchen is filled with a delicious aroma that makes me impatiently hungry. As I let the cutlets continue frying, I turn on the TV in our adjacent living room. I don't even bothering finding a channel; I usually just like to have it on for some background noise. It gets too quiet being alone in the house.

Some afternoon talk show is on, but I'm barely paying attention. I'm too fixated on the delicious-smelling food cooking in front of me. As I'm finishing up cooking my dinner, a breaking news alert grabs my attention. It seems as though the local police are looking for a teenage fugitive. I'm intrigued for several reasons but mostly because, I'm curious as to why a teen would pose so much trouble that the entire county needs to be alerted, and the fact that they said he was last seen yesterday only a few miles outside our town concerns me. The details of what he's in trouble for are vague, and all they have as visual reference is a poorly done sketch.

I shiver, perhaps from the thought of a potentially dangerous fugitive running around or maybe because I'm still cold from the rain. I cover the finished food to keep it warm until Mom gets home. I rub my arms when another shiver runs through me. Why is the house suddenly so cold? I head into my room to put on a warmer layer.

I throw on a hoodie, but before I exit my room, the sound of loud rain at my window catches my attention. I look over to see that the cold draft is coming from the window. Oh, how stupid of me. I must have forgotten to close it. I go over to it and push it down, locking it in place.

As I lock it, it hits me; I never opened the window.

My heart stops.

Fear floods my body.

I see a reflection in the glass of the window of a blurry silhouette behind me, and I instantly turn around, but before I can defend myself the intruder places his hand over my mouth and pulls me down to the floor.

I thrash my body, trying to free myself and I attempt to scream but it's muffled by the intruder's hand. I can barely make out his face in the darkened room, but I know instantly who it is. It's the fugitive from the news.

He's soaking wet from being out in the rain. The water runs off the ends of his hairs and drips profusely on me. His drenched body presses down on me, probably to constrict my attempts to escape.

"Shhh, I need you to stay quiet…" he warns in a low but serious voice.

His tone doesn't sound menacing or threatening, but he could be one of those calm serial killers who enjoy watching his victims fight. The thought alone drains all the color out of me. I've never been more scared in my entire life, but strangely it's not for my own safety—at least not entirely. All I can think of is my poor mom. I'm suddenly thankful for the nurse who didn't show up to her work today. If it had not been for her, my mom might be in my current situation.

I realize that I'm still trying to wiggle myself out of his grasp, which proves to be futile, because he's got me pinned down hard. I feel his legs lock around mine, his free arm span across my arms and chest, and his hips pressed down firmly against mine. I feel all of his weight crushing down on me—I'm not going anywhere whether I like to or not. It's unsettling to be so physically close to a complete stranger, especially one I have no clue is capable of doing.

"Please stop trying to resist, I won't hurt you," the stranger tells me. I still don't believe him.

I refuse to look him in the eyes, partially because I'm too scared of what I may uncover. I fear that I'll see the deranged eyes of a psychopath. That would only make me feel even more afraid.

I then see siren lights emanate from outside my window. I'm so close to safety, yet it's completely out of reach. A few moments later, I hear a knock on the front door. Our attention goes straight to the pounding at the door. It's loud and there's urgency to the knock. I know with certainty it's the police. They must be trying to warn everyone on the street to keep a lookout for the fugitive. _Too late_, I think to myself direly.

"Please stay quiet. Please, can you do that?" the intruder pleads with me. Or maybe he's threatening me. It's hard to tell when his voice sounds calm enough, yet he's pushing down all his body weight on me.

There's another round of loud knocks.

I decide that I have two options. I could attempt to scream as loudly as possible, but risk the intruder harming me, or I could do as he says and remain silent, hoping that he won't hurt me for being compliant. But there's no guarantee what he would do with me…

I consider possibly biting the hand that's cover my mouth, but if I'm being honest, I'm much too scared of what may happen if I try to act like a hero. People always talk about how they would've handled a dangerous situation differently, but now that I'm actually in a dangerous situation, I'm crippled by paralyzing fear. As much as I hate that my body has involuntarily shut down on me, I now get why people don't fight back. I decide to submit to his request—for now.

I simply respond by nodding. I hate myself for submitting to a stranger, but this stranger—for all I know—could be dangerous. It wouldn't be very wise to do anything risky, especially since he seems to tower over me in height alone.

I finally cease thrashing and remain as still as I can; even my heartbeats feel faint. We wait in silence—for him, it's for the police to leave; for me, it's of the unknown of what will happen next. Bile rises in my throat and I feel the need to scream, not just for help but because of the circumstances. _Why me?_ I keep thinking. I go about my business and never bother anyone, so why _me_?

Suddenly, we hear the sounds of footsteps heading down the porch steps, and all I hear now are the continuous rainfall and the low buzz of the TV in the living room. The intruder still lies flatly on top of me, clearly waiting for total certainty that the cops have left the area.

My eyes instinctively dart up to the window after about a minute. The red and blue siren lights slowly fade away and disappear. I realize that was my only chance of salvation—and it's gone…


	2. Enigma

**A/N: First off, I want to thank everyone for reading this fanfic and sending in such nice comments! I honestly did not expect this story to be so well received after only ONE chapter! You guys are truly the best! I'm very excited to keep the momentum of this story going, because we left off with our two central characters meeting for the first time.**

**I'm particularly happy with this chapter because we actually get to learn more out our mysterious (but oh-so-sexy) intruder. Also, as you'll see in this chapter, this story will be fairly dialogue-heavy, which I think helps add to the chemistry of these two characters!**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Black Flies" Ben Howard

**I listened to countless songs to get inspiration for this chapter, but eventually I ended up with this song by Ben Howard. It captures the tone of this chapter better than any other song I listened to. It's a fine balance of Logan's fear and hesitation with Kendall, since he still barely knows him, but I wanted something that also felt like a hint of a blossoming love song. Logan is intrigued by Kendall and Kendall feels the same, so I think this song fits that tone perfectly.**

**I hope you like it, and please review and let me know what you think of chapter 2, "Enigma".**

* * *

A tear escapes the corner of my eye as I think of how I should have handled that differently. I should have screamed for the cops at the top of my lungs. I think of my mom again. I think of how because I was too much of a coward I may now be unable to protect her… how I may not see her again.

"Did I hurt you?" the stranger asks. His voice almost sounds… concerned.

I look up at him, finally meeting his gaze, which I hadn't done earlier because I was too afraid and everything felt shrouded in haze. I see his eyes, which are green with a golden hue. His expression strangely matches his tone. Is he concerned about possibly hurting me? I can't imagine anyone who's a fugitive of the law and breaks into a civilian's home having too much of a conscience.

Oh. He must think I'm crying because I'm physically hurt, I finally realize. I shake my head, which is moronic. I don't owe him anything, certainly not a response. He's the one lying on top of me, binding my mouth.

Regardless, he frees me and gets off of me. He's instantly on his feet, standing a few feet from me. I slowly and cautious back up against the wall; not making any hasty movements. I wouldn't want him to think I'm trying to make a run for it. I doubt I even have a chance to try. I must have a look of terror plastered on my face, but I try my best to mask it.

"I'm sorry I had to do that," the intruder says to me. "But if I didn't, you probably would've run off to the cops."

"Probably," I say reflexively. _Shut up!_ I tell myself. _You don't need to tell him that!_

I expect him to lunge at me and tie me to a chair, but instead he laughs. He _laughs_.

Is this his sinister way of letting me know that he will hack me into little pieces for my smartass comment?

"You can get up, you know? I promise, I won't hurt you," he reiterates.

His green eyes are unreadable. But I realize that I'm still sitting on the floor with my back to the corner of the room, like a frightened kitten, so I slowly slide upwards, straightening out my legs. But I place a hand cautiously in front of me as if it will even be able to defend me.

The intruder makes no movement. He simply stares at me, assessing me probably like I am doing with him. I see that he's probably about six-foot, around 170 pounds, a lean build, and I'm assuming blonde or dirty blonde hair. It's hard to tell since his wet hair makes it appear darker. Besides the distinctive eyebrows they drew, he hardly resembles that awful amateur sketch of him. It sounds odd to say, but he's much handsomer than I'd expect a fugitive to look.

"What's your name?" he finally asks breaking the silence.

Is this guy serious right now? He breaks into my home, pins me to the floor, and who knows what he plans on doing next, yet he expects me to open up to him?

"What's yours?" I counter.

He chuckles, for which I'm not sure why. Does he find me humorous? But he answers my defensive question anyway.

"I'm Kendall," he says openly.

I can't help but think of how his name doesn't really match someone like him.

"Kind of a girly name," I mumble. _What are you doing?!_ My subconscious yells at me.

But, like he's been doing, he remains still and simply laughs lightly. I'm beginning to wonder whether he's crazier than I had anticipated.

"I told you mine. Now, can I get yours?"

I look down, internally debating on the repercussions of sharing personal information to a fugitive. But for whatever reason, I tell him anyway.

"It's Logan."

"Logan," he repeats aloud. "I like it. It suits you."

The unexpected compliment makes me squirm a bit. He has to realize the oddity of our situation. We're standing here—face to face, intruder to victim—making small talk. But for some reason he doesn't seem fazed by the same tension as me. He seems so in control of himself. Strangely enough, this helps me relax a bit. Maybe this is what he wants though. Maybe he wants me to let down my guard. Paranoia rears its ugly head again and my guard comes back up.

"What is it that you want?" I ask him flatly.

"I need a place to hide," he responds just as bluntly.

"You can't. Not here," I tell him.

I'm surprised by how assertive I am, especially given that he could very easily break my guarded demeanor any moment he wants. _Or break your neck_, my mind reminds me. Yeah, that too…

"I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving. Not yet anyway," he throws back at me.

"I promise I won't go to the police," I lie in desperation.

"I don't believe you," he says seeing through my fib.

"How will this even work?" I ask with genuine curiosity and confusion.

"I'm guessing you don't live alone, so I'll be staying in your room," he informs me.

I shiver at the thought of sleeping in the same room with a fugitive. I'd literally have to sleep with one eye open.

"There has to be another wa—"

"There isn't," he cuts me off harshly.

I flinch at his coldness. He's certainly not chuckling anymore. His expression softens though and he apologizes.

"Look, I'm sorry it had to be this way. I just need to stay here long enough until I can get the cops off my trail, and then I'm gone."

"You won't hurt me or my mom, right?" I basically blurt out the question and I realize I've potentially compromised my mom's safety.

"Don't do anything foolish and I won't," he informs me.

"How can I believe you?"

"You just have to," he retorts.

He's right though. I have no say in the matter. The situation fully hits me. What the hell has he dragged me into? How did today go from a typical Wednesday to this? I almost yearn for my boring and predictable life now.

"Oh my god, I'm harboring a fugitive… I'm going to go to prison before I'm even old enough to graduate…" I stew out loud.

"You're not going to prison," he rolls his eyes as if to dismiss my melodrama.

"How are you so sure? Have you ever harbored a fugitive before? Actually, you know what, don't answer that," I decide.

"Relax. You'll get premature frown lines on that pretty face of yours," he teases with an ambiguous wink.

It catches me off guard. How is it that he can make light of this situation?

"So, what, I'm like a hostage in my own home?" I ask, addressing the irony.

"You're no hostage. You can come and go as you please," he corrects.

"Aren't you worried I'll just report you to the police when I'm gone?" I challenge.

I'm not sure if threatening my captor is the smartest move.

"I have a feeling you won't," he smiles confidently.

I'm thrown off by his assured behavior again. Is he not afraid of my possible threat against him?

"Will you hurt me if I do?" I ask for clarification, even though I'm not sure I'd like the answer.

"Only if you want me to," he winks.

I'm unsure if he's threatening me or flirting with me. Perhaps it's both. Either way it makes me feel exposed and uncomfortable.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asks. It seems like it's rhetorical since he's already about to light the cigarette he's holding to lips.

"You can't smoke in here," I deny him.

"What? Is having fun not allowed?" he teases with a crooked grin.

I find his behavior condescending, but he still manages to make me blush.

"It's my room," I firmly remind him.

He looks at me with narrowed eyes, which makes me slightly nervous, but I don't back down from my assertion. To my surprise, he puts away the cigarette and lighter.

"You're right. I'm sorry," he apologizes with a smirk.

We stand there in silence, listening to the heavy rain thrash against the windows, because I don't know what else to do. I mean, I've never exactly been held hostage before.

"I'm wet," he finally says to break the silence.

I look up and notice that he is. My eyes focus on the wet black shirt that clings tightly against his body, emphasizing his lean frame. The lineation in his abdominals is visible through the wet cotton shirt. I shake my head when I realize I'm gawking at a complete stranger like some sort of weird pervert.

I'm then immediately reminded that his wet clothes soaked right through my dry ones, too.

"Am I supposed to feel bad for you?" I ask rhetorically.

I shouldn't keep challenging him. I'd imagine he could easily crush my skull. I just can't bring myself to behave like a good and compliant little hostage that he may want me to be.

He simply gives me a crooked smile and shakes his head.

"You're not going to make this any easier for me, are you?"

"Should I?"

Another crooked smile.

"You should be polite to your guests," he tries joking with me.

"You're not a guest. You're an intruder," I enlighten.

He doesn't say anything else this time. He looks me right in the eyes and starts walking over to me. My heart freezes and I now regret being a smartass.

I try to remain composed and strong. I won't allow him to intimidate me. The truth is, I am intimidated, but I just can't show it. All I can think of is how I won't go down without a fight. If he wants to hurt me, I'll make sure to leave him just as damaged.

He stands inches from me, towering over me. I swallow hard. So much for trying to look strong. He reaches to grab me, and I reflexively put an arm up to shield myself—only he doesn't grab me. He reaches behind me, and picks up a folded towel on top of my dresser.

"May I?" he smiles, holding out the towel.

I nod weakly as my heart resumes.

He dabs the towel against his face, runs it under his chin and down the back of his neck.

An idea springs into my mind and I devise a plan to make an escape.

"You know, you're right. I shouldn't let you stay in wet clothes, you could get pneumonia. Here, you can borrow some of my clothes."

I turn around and open a drawer and pull out the first things I see. I hand them to him, and he takes them with gratitude—perhaps too much gratitude. He acts as though I've just given him my last dollar. A small part inside of me feels sympathy for him, but then I remind myself he may be potentially dangerous.

"Thanks," he humbly nods.

"Our bathroom is down the hall. You're more than welcome to dry off and change into something else," I offer.

His head instant jerks back up.

He narrows his eyes and stares at me so deeply, like he's drilling his consciousness into my own. Shit.

"You think I'm that stupid?"

"What do you mean?" I try playing dumb.

I can feel my face turning red, giving away my poor attempt at deception.

"Nice try, but as soon as I'm in that bathroom you'll go running out into the streets looking for help," he deduces.

I look away because his gaze is causing what's felt of my resistance to falter. I can't lie to save my life. Hopefully that doesn't turn out to be a literal statement…

"I don't blame you for trying," he says. "But I can't have you out of my sight."

"I thought you said I could come and go as I please," I remind him.

"That's when I thought you would play by the rules. Clearly you like to be bad," he says with a devilish grin.

I blush red again.

"You can't keep me imprisoned in my own home," I protest.

"Relax. I won't. Well, at least until I can trust you."

"When will that be?" I ask curiously.

"When you learn to trust me."

I scoff at his words. Does he really think I can ever trust him? He doesn't deserve my trust.

"You're being unreasonable now. Help yourself to pneumonia then," I caution him.

He simply scoffs at me, and then before I realize what he's doing, he lifts his shirt over his head. I get a glimpse of his long defined torso.

I instantly turn around and my cheeks burn from embarrassment.

"You could have given me a warning, you know," I scold him, staring at the wall.

"Why? What's the big deal; never seen a man get dressed before?" he teases.

I can't see his expression since I'm too mortified to look back at him, but I can bet he has a smug look.

When I think it's safe enough, I turn around just as he finishes up getting dressed. His muscular back ripples as he pulls the sweater over his head, and I spot a few tattoos scattered over his body.

I curiously wonder what his tattoos mean.

He stands there looking uncomfortable. The top I haphazardly grabbed was a cardigan, one that's much too small with the sleeves clearly being too short, and the pants look like capris on his tall frame.

"So… got anything more my style?"

I can't help but snicker. Then the snicker turns into laughter.

"I knew it. I look like a fucking idiot, don't I?" he asks self-consciously; the first time I see him behave this way actually.

"I'm sorry," I chuckle. "You just look so ridiculous."

"_Ha ha_. When you're through laughing, can you find me some real men's clothes?" he teases back.

"Sorry, I didn't think I needed a second wardrobe to outfit a fugitive," I retort sardonically. "Let me see if I have anything in your size," I say as I regain control of myself.

I shuffle through some clothes and nothing seems to be remotely close to his size. I begin flipping through my clothes hanging in my closet.

Suddenly, he's standing next to me, shuffling through my clothes. I get a hint of his scent. He smells nice. It's a very organic smell, like rainwater and pine needles. I refocus myself back to the task at hand.

"Do you have _any_ big boy clothes?" he makes fun as he holds up a small shirt.

"Hey, it's not my fault you're so freakishly tall," I defend.

Again, I'm sure if it's smart of me to make fun of a guy who can probably kill me in my sleep, but he practically ignores my comment altogether.

"Hang on; I think I have some more clothes under my bed."

I pull out a plastic storage bin from under my bed and start digging through it to find something more suitable, while he goes through the rest of my clothes hanging up in my closet. It feels odd to let a stranger go through my things. Fortunately, I find a t-shirt that happens to be a size too big for me and some grey sweatpants, which will probably still be too short on him, but I think it'll suffice.

"Oh, I think I may have found something that could fit you," I announce with my back still turned to him.

"Finally!" he says feigning a groan.

"Here. Put these on," I tell him.

When I turn around, my jaw unhinges and I'm left speechless. He's standing across the room stark naked with his hair still slightly dripping from the rain.

"Throw 'em over," he instructs me with his hands out in front of him, ready to catch.

"Oh, sorry…" I mumble before I toss the clothes to him.

I immediately look down and place a hand above my eyes, mortified. Was he raised by wolves? Does he have no sense of decency? He's so casual about it all, too. Is this how he always acts or is he trying to play some game that I'm not aware of him? I wonder.

"You can look now, dude," he chuckles. "It's all good."

"Do you always break into people's homes and strip in their room?" I ask sarcastically to make light of what just happened.

It was either make it into a joke or die from the humiliation.

"Only the cute ones," he replies with a wink.

I flinch again. What kind of game is he playing…?

"Now, take off your clothes," he commands me.

"W-what?"

"You're clothes are wet, too," he gestures with a lift of his chin.

"Like, right here…? With you watching me?" I ask for clarification.

"Yeah."

"What? No privacy?"

"I told you, I can't have you out of my sight. Sorry," he says as if saying 'sorry' makes the humiliation go away.

I stand there, hoping he will realize how absurd he's being, but he doesn't budge. He stands there, eyes fixed, waiting for me to disrobe.

I self-consciously lift the damp t-shirt over my head. I try to modesty cover my body with my arms as I undo the drawstring on my sweat shorts. I slide them off and stand there feeling exposed.

He walks over to me, handing me some dry clothes.

Our hands touch and electricity goes through me, but I don't retract or flinch. It's not a bad jolt; it's a wholly different kind of sensation that I've never experienced before. I slowly look up at him, trying to read his expression.

"You shouldn't be ashamed of your body," he says quietly to me, so quietly that I'm not entirely sure it was actually said.

We stand there, both holding the small pile of clothes, looking at one another. I can't seem to remove my gaze from him. His eyes are hypnotic, and just as soon as I begin to get lost in them, he closes his lids tightly, as if intensely thinking about something. His brows furrow together. When his eyes open, he turns his back to me and rubs the back of his neck, seemingly out of frustration.

I quickly put on my clothes out of modesty. He mumbles something incoherent—almost like he's cursing at himself.

"What did you say?" I ask, because I want to know why his mood all of a sudden shifted.

His back is still turned to me, and his posture has sunken a bit, like he's ashamed.

"I shouldn't have made you do that." I don't understand his meaning, but he clarifies before I can even ask. "That was wrong to make you unwillingly undress in front of me. I'm sorry."

I did not expect this. I didn't expect for him to have any remorse, but he does. Do I console him and tell him I'm all right and that he's doing his job as an intruder—that he's just doing what he must to protect himself? How absurd does that sound? Frankly, this whole situation is absurd. I've never met anyone like him in my life. There's a strange and familiar frailty to his spirit that I can't help but be drawn to. It scares me how much I want to know more about him. He's such an enigma to me.

But before I can say anything, a sound from the front door grabs both of our attention. I instantly look at him with anxious and frightened eyes.

Mom has come home and I have no idea what he'll do with us. For a moment, I actually forgot that there was a potential threat in our home. I fear for our safety, but mostly for Mom's, because I don't know with certainty whether his calm nature will continue or if a dangerous side to him will finally emerge and prove me dead wrong.


	3. Hideout

**A/N: Anyone care for more sexual Kogan tension? Well, here it is!**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Nothing Left To Say" by Imagine Dragons

"Your Heart Is An Empty Room" by Death Cab for Cutie

**I chose these songs because, well, frankly I love them and these bands. But mainly I chose them because they really set a certain tone for this chapter. The past few chapters are actually tricky, because I need songs that walk a fine line between something of a budding romance, but not overly lovey-dovey, because Logan and Kendall's characters aren't quite there yet in this stage of the story.**

**So I really like these songs, because they have such a cool, but mysterious sound to them, which suits the story at this point nicely. Even though they're fictional characters, when I'm writing I'm constantly thinking of what types of music I think Logan and Kendall's characters would listen to. I definitely think Death Cab and Imagine Dragons would be on both their lists.**

**I would also love to hear any band or song suggestions! What bands or artists do _you_ think Kendall and Logan would listen to? **

**Please review and let me know what you think! Without further ado, I give you chapter 3, "Hideout".**

* * *

I look at him with pleading eyes.

"Please don't hurt my mom," I beg of him.

And he looks at me with disconcerting eyes before he clenches his jaw, and his lips press together to form a tight line.

"I won't. But you have to get her on board with the plan," he warns me.

"I will," I nod obediently; anything to keep her safe.

I head out of the room, but he grabs me by the arm.

"Remember, Logan… don't do anything foolish," he threatens.

This is the first time since he's been in our house that I'm genuinely scared of him. I quickly go to the front door just as Mom comes in.

"Oh, hey, sweetie," she greets me tenderly, oblivious to the fact that there's a fugitive currently hiding in my room. "Oh my god, can you believe this weather?" she asks rhetorically.

I contemplate grabbing my mom by the hand and running out the door with her, while explaining to her that we have to run from our unwelcomed house guest.

But I don't.

For whatever reason, I don't run. Instead, I let her in, compromising both of our safety. But that's just it; I don't feel as though there's any eminent danger. If there was, I would have known by now. Call it stupidity, but my instincts are telling me otherwise. Besides, running away now may put both of us in greater danger.

I smile at her, trying my best to act as normal as possible. I wouldn't want her to get suspicious of my behavior; it could endanger us both.

I look at her and she looks back at me. I'm a terrible liar, a terrible actor. I wonder if she can detect the burden in my eyes. She looks back at me, still smiling and clearly oblivious to the tension on my face. I realize that she really has no clue, not even a hint.

"Here, let me help you," I offer, taking her coat off for her.

"Aw, you are too sweet, Logie-Bear."

I can only hope that he can't hear our conversation in the next room. It's bad enough that he has gone through my underwear drawer, seen me _in_ my underwear, but knowing my mom's embarrassing nickname for me is too much to bear.

"How was work?" I ask quickly as distraction.

"Exhausting!" she exclaims.

"I thought you said you were working late tonight."

"Well, I was, but they actually had to cut hours because of payroll for once, so I volunteered myself to leave early so I could spend time with my #1 man!" she flatters, pinching my cheeks like I'm still three.

"Hehe, _mom_…"

I blush, because my own mother is making look like a complete mama's boy to the intruder. Now there's really no way that I could come off as anything but a wimp to him.

"Ooh, dinner smells fantastic, honey. Thanks again for doing that."

"No problem," I shrug.

"Are you hungry? 'Cause I'm starved!"

"Here, sit down. I'll fix you a plate," I offer.

I glance at the hall as we walk into the kitchen. I wonder what he's thinking in there…

Mom pulls out a chair and plops herself down, letting out a sigh. I have to give it to her, she does work long hours. She's still wearing her scrubs, which make her look even more petite than she already is. She sits waiting anxiously as I pile her dinner onto a plate.

I grab some utensils and pour her a tall glass of water. I serve her dinner before I fix a plate for myself. She starts eating before I can even sit down.

"Hungry?" I ask.

"Sorry," she says through a mouthful, but she's gracious enough to cover her mouth. "I barely got to eat anything today," she justifies.

"Don't worry about it, Mom. There's plenty. Eat up," I give her an understanding smile.

I look down at my plate as Mom continues to chow down on hers. I pick at my pork cutlet with my fork and knife, and take small gingerly bites. I play with my mashed potatoes without any real focus or interest. I'm too concerned about him. Kendall. _What's he doing in there?_ I think to myself. _Is he even still in there?_

Perhaps he decided to sneak out my bedroom window. Maybe he didn't think he could trust Mom… or me any longer, for that matter.

An inexplicable worry comes over me. I don't want him to be gone. I still have so many questions for him. Why is he running from the cops? What did he mean earlier when he said what he did to me was wrong?

I realize how lunatic I am. I'm concerned about a guy that broke into our house and holding me hostage. I scoff at myself, but I didn't realize it was audible, because Mom pauses from eating and asks me what's wrong.

"Oh, nothing."

"Are you sure, sweetie? You've barely touched your food," she points out.

This is my chance. This is my chance to tell her of the crazy and potentially dire situation we've been put in.

"There's something important I need to tell you, Mom," I start out.

I try to keep my voice as evenly as possible so I won't concern her, but it's of no use, because she sets her fork down and holds my hand.

"Logie, what is it? What's wrong?" she asks with desperate eyes.

"Nothing. Nothing, Mom. It's just that…" I trail off, because I'm not sure what to tell her. I'm not sure if I even should.

I internally debate as to whether or not I should bring up the intruder hiding out in our house. I know how my mom is.

She'll panic and freak out. She'll cause a scene. She'll jeopardize us.

I realize this.

I realize I have to be the one to take care of us, to make sure we stay safe… in my own way.

"What, Logan? You're starting to worry me," she says breaking my internal dialogue.

"It's just that I… didn't make dessert tonight," I let out.

Geez, I really do suck at lying.

"Oh," Mom blinks a few times as she absorbs this insignificant detail.

"Sorry," I chuckle nervously.

"It's all right, honey. I don't expect dessert every night," she proclaims to make me feel better.

It doesn't work, because she doesn't realize what's really bothering me. I smile for her benefit anyway.

She finishes her glass of water and rinses her plate and utensils, and stacks them into the dishwasher.

"I'll do the dishes, Mom," I tell her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Go take a hot shower and go to bed early. I'm sure you're tired."

"Oh, you bet. Alright, well I guess I'm going to jump into the shower then," she announces through a drawn out yawn. "Thanks again for doing the dishes, honey. You are the best son a mother could ask for," she states before she tiptoes up and kisses me on the forehead.

As soon as she disappears into her room, I take my half eaten plate and empty it into the trashcan. I rinse the dirty dishes and pop them into the dishwasher and start the machine. I lean over the kitchen sink, contemplating on how to get myself out of this bizarre mess. I want my mom to be involved in it as little as possible, if at all. But if that's the case, I'll have to get much better at lying, which doesn't sit right with me. I hate lying to people I care about, but this is an instance where lying is crucial—it'll mean our safety. I mean, what would I even say to her anyway; 'Mom, I'd like for you to meet the guy that will be holding us hostage'?

I know what I have to do now. I just have to keep Mom in the dark of the situation. But the question is whether or not _he_ will be okay that I didn't follow his instructions. I doubt hiding him in silence from Mom was part of his plan.

I begin to head back into the room, but then I stop and grab a plate from the cabinets. I pile on what's left over of our dinner and pour a glass of milk. I figure that I shouldn't be so cruel as to let someone starve, even an intruder.

I walk in cautiously, even though it's _my_ room. I just don't know what to expect. Will he jump out from behind me and punish me for not obeying him?

I scan the dark room but don't see him. But, when I turn around, he emerges from the closet.

"Shit!" I half scream. The two of us look into the hallway, expecting my mom to come running—only she doesn't.

I hear the water running through the pipes in our walls, and I know she's in her shower. We can safely talk in peace. I laugh to myself at the irony of that; 'safety' and 'peace' while I'm face-to-face with our intruder.

"What's all this?" he asks, looking at the plate of food and glass of milk.

"I figured you would be hungry," I say feigning an unsympathetic tone.

He looks at me again as if I'd just given him my last dollar… or better yet, clothes off my back, since he's literally wearing my clothes. I hand him the plate, but he doesn't snatch it immediately. Instead, he holds his hands under mine, which makes me feel uneasy. It's a little more intimate than what I'm used to—stranger or not.

"Thank you. That's really kind of you," he says with full eye contact.

"Don't mention it," I tell him as I slightly blush.

I'm not one for sentimental gratitude. I don't like people thinking I do things expecting something in return. But actually, come to think it, I should ask him since I'm giving him a free meal, if he could let off the hook with this whole hostage situation. I doubt that would happen though…

He takes the plate and seats himself on the floor. He wolfs down on the food, and gulps the milk. I feel a flash of pity for him. How long has it been since his last meal? He glances up when he sees me staring at him with pitiful eyes. He looks slightly embarrassed and slows his chewing.

"You want some?" he offers.

I half-smile but shake my head.

"You're a good cook," he comments through a mouthful.

"Uh, thank you," I reply humbly and awkwardly.

I'm also not good at taking compliments.

"Did your mom teach you?" he says through his aggressive chewing.

"No," I chuckle. "Definitely not… I just learned watching them do it on TV. I guess I'm a fairly fast learner."

"I bet…" he says ambiguously, raising one of those thick eyebrows of his. "Well, either way, thanks again, dude."

I simply give him a modest smile.

"You sure you don't want to share?" he offers, holding out the already half-eaten plate.

"Nah, I barely ate my dinner out there."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know, just don't have much of an appetite, I suppose."

"I hope it's not because of me."

"Well, I'd be lying if I said it isn't partly because of you."

He ceases chewing, and places his plate on his lap.

"I am really sorry, you know," he says in a low serious tone.

I believe him. I don't let him know that, but I believe him. I don't think he meant to terrorize anyone, but the fact is, our worlds collided and now we just have to deal with the hand that we've been dealt. He's come into my life for whatever reason, and I'm a part of his. I just hope mom and I can walk away unscathed.

I simply nod at him.

He looks down at his food briefly and then back up.

"If it's any consolation, I'm glad I picked this house," he says before he resumes eating.

I'm not entirely sure what he means by this, but I decide I shouldn't overanalyze it.

He chugs the remainder of his milk and I tell him to just leave the dishes on my nightstand. I glance at the clock sitting on the same nightstand. I see that it's still early, but I'm already drained from this strange day.

I look back at him and see him wiping his hands and mouth on the shirt he's wearing—_my _shirt.

"Are you always this unruly?" I ask.

He isn't offended though. _Of course he isn't_, I think to myself.

He replies by letting out a loud and intentional belch.

"Excuse me," he says sarcastically.

"You're barbaric, you know that, right?" I condescend.

"We can't all be perfect like you," he throws back.

"I'm far from perfect."

"From where I'm standing, you look pretty perfect," he grins, exposing his dimples.

This makes me blush. I've been blushing so much today then my cheeks may threaten to explode.

"I need to shower," I mutter, attempting to change the subject.

"Need some company?"

I nearly choke on my own saliva. Did he really just ask me that? I can't yet differentiate when he's joking and when he's serious.

"No!" I yell out in embarrassment.

"How can I be sure you won't run away from me?"

"You're taking this whole hostage thing a little too seriously, don't you think?"

"Just doing my job, Logie-Bear," he winks.

_Oh_. _My_. _God_.

I knew it! He _did_ hear Mom call me that! I instantly turn red, and I wish that I could crawl under a large rock and die.

"What? You can make fun of my name, but I can't make fun of yours?" he vindicates with a sly grin.

"I'm going to go shower now," I say trying to ignore his comment altogether.

"Oh, c'mon! Stop acting like a baby," he laughs at me.

I grab a towel and slam the door behind me, but I can still hear him chuckling on the other side.

Why do I let him get under my skin? Why do I even care what he thinks of me? I shake my head, hoping to clear it. A hot shower is what I need.

I turn on the faucet and run my hand under the hot water. It gets hot within a few seconds. I disrobe and get in. The water feels glorious. I let the heat unknot the tension in my muscles, particularly the ones in my shoulders and back. I engulf myself in the steam and hot water, and soon enough I start to feel calm and tranquil. I lower my head down, allowing the water to run off the ends of my hairs. I place a hand against the shower tiles for support, and then I close my eyelids, reveling in the relaxation. It's the first time today that I haven't felt on edge.

I'm so relaxed that for the first time I almost forget about be held captive. Almost… because suddenly my mind roams… to intimate places. I think of _him_. Only this time I don't mean James Diamond… No, this time it's _him_—the fugitive!

_Don't say it!_ I yell at my subconscious. _Don't you dare say his name! He's not a person to you!_

But it's too late. My rational mind and body lose sync with one another and my mouth parts, causing his name to come out in a breathy moan.

"Kendall…"

My mind snaps back to reality and my eyes fly open. Holy shit, what just happened? Did I… did I just fantasy about my captor?

I think that maybe I'm _too_ relaxed, so I quickly shampoo my hair and wash my body, mortified by my lack of self-control. I turn off the faucet, get out of the shower and hastily get dressed.

I towel my wet hair dry. Well, as close enough to dry as possible. I head back to my room, passing Mom's. I hear that her bedroom TV is on. I slowly—and quietly as possible—open her door slightly. I peek through only to find her sleeping soundly. I let out a sigh of relief. I was worried that I would have to be anxiously waiting for her to fall asleep, all the while secretly hiding a fugitive in my room. _This is only the first night_, I remind myself. Great…

I usually turn the TV off for her most nights, but I decide to leave it on tonight, just in case. Hopefully the noise will prevent her from hearing strange whispers coming from my room.

I'm then reminded that I still have a stranger in my room. I go back and find him looking through my books and CDs stacked in my bookcase.

"That was fast," he comments.

"I don't like to waste water," I attempt lying.

"You look… relaxed," he observes, eyeing my up and down.

I blush again.

"Hardly."

"You have so much music, dude," he states, focusing his attention back on the CDs.

Again, it feels odd having a stranger go through my personal belongings.

"What can I say—I like music," I shrug.

I sit on the edge of my bed as I watch him continue to study my taste in music and books.

"You read a lot?"

"You tell me," I chuckle nervously.

"I'd say so. Well, compared to me, that is."

"You don't read?" I ask curiously.

"Nah, I'm not much of a reader. Although, I do like this book," he states as he pulls out John Steinbeck's _East of Eden_.

Something compels me to walk over to him, and we stand side by side as we study the book's cover.

"It's one of my favorites," I share.

I don't know why I feel the compulsion to tell him that. He obviously knows I like it, otherwise why would I have it. But when it comes to books, I'm in my element—I'm no longer a social mute; I can actually carry a conversation.

"Mine, too," he says.

I wonder if it actually is, or if he's just trying to relate to me. I have a feeling he's not one to lie about such trivial things, though.

"What do you like about it?" I wonder.

"I don't know… I guess I like how it deals with family, and how no matter what you do you're never quite good enough, you know? It's sort of fucked up if you think about it," he laughs darkly.

He suddenly becomes silent, and his typically sly face is replaced with a somber one.

I'm mesmerized by his hauntingly void expression. He looks distant and lost, like he's no longer here—like his mind has transported him to another place and time. Then his eyes reclaim control. He smiles as if nothing has happened.

"You should go to bed. It's a school night," he reminds me as if I were his child.

Strangely enough, I obey him. I'm beyond tired after the eventful day. I nod, undo my covers, and slip into bed.

He lies on the bare floor beside my bed. I can't imagine the floor being too comfortable, especially on a chillier night like tonight.

I get out of bed and dig through my closet. I can feel his eyes bore into me, probably wondering what I'm doing. I find a spare quilt that my Nana made me years ago that I've kept all this time. I've just been too embarrassed to actually use it. It feels too personal to lend my Nana's quilt to someone who has invaded my room, but I know Nana would want me to put it to good use.

"Here you go," I say handing him the thick quilt.

He looks up at me. I notice how vulnerable he looks, lying on the floor, looking up at me. For once he's not towering over me. His eyes glimmer from underneath his long lashes.

"Thank you," he says in a low tone.

I nod once, and slip back into bed. I pass him a pillow from my bed since I have two. I obviously don't need both.

I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling, knowing full well that as exhausted as I am, I won't be able to sleep very well tonight. I simply have too much on my mind. I wonder if he will be able to.

We lie in silence, which gets increasingly awkward.

"The pillow has your scent," he comments, finally breaking the silence, but not the awkwardness.

I don't respond, because I'm too embarrassed. Hopefully, he doesn't think I smell bad.

"Hey," he whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Who takes care of you?"

The question is an ambiguous one to me. I'm not sure I know how to answer. So I reply with a question instead.

"What do you mean?"

"You take care of your mom," he remarks. "So who takes care of you?"

I find it interesting that he notices after listening to me and Mom that she's dependent of me. Most people wouldn't pick up on our relationship.

"I guess… myself?" I reply doubtfully.

"I'm guessing it's just you and your mom," he deduces.

I nod.

"But most days it feels like it's just me," I explain.

"She works a lot?"

"Yeah, but even when she is home, she isn't… if that makes any sense."

"I know the feeling," he says, again in that empty lifeless tone. But then he regains control again and adds, "So I guess I shouldn't be worried about her catching me in your room?"

"She hardly ever comes in here," I confess. "We live very separates lives."

"She seems like she loves you, though," he observes.

"She does. And I love her. It's just odd living with someone who knows very little about you, like, _really_ know you."

"She never takes off to just, I don't know, shoot the shit with you?"

"I'm assuming you mean 'spend time with me'," I correct his coarse language. "And no, she doesn't. We can't afford her taking any time off."

"So you're basically home by yourself all the time."

"Basically."

"So you're like a latchkey kid?"

"Essentially."

I'm curious as to why he's making small talk with me, and I'm even more curious as to why I'm opening up to him. But, strangely enough, it doesn't feel weird or forced at all. It's actually ironically comforting, talking to this strange boy.

"So was I," he reveals. "Didn't mind it though; gave me a reason to avoid my old man as much as possible," he confesses.

I can't help but want to ask a plethora of questions. I know I should keep some distance. I know I should turn him in to the police when the opportunity presents itself, but for some inexplicable reason I'm curious to find out why he's being chased by the police in the first place. I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm absolutely intrigued by him—his mystery, his quick wit, his coolness, his _boldness_.

Of the numerous questions I want answers to, I settle on one that's unassuming.

"You never get lonely though?"

"Sometimes," he admits in an almost somber tone. "Do you?"

"Not really. I'm a bit of a loner anyway."

"At the end of the day, aren't we all though?" he says metaphysically. Who knew he could be so deep?

"I suppose. I guess it _would_ be nice to have someone to talk to from time to time."

"Well, you do now," he says gesturing to himself.

I blush. I'm not sure why, but I do.

I look at his green eyes, and without sarcasm or irony, I reply; "I suppose I do."

* * *

**Too impatient for the next chapter? Review this chapter and I'll message you an exclusive preview of the next chapter!**


	4. Trust

**A/N: Thank you for all the AMAZING reviews so far!**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Miss You" by Foster the People

"Some Boys" by Death Cab for Cutie

"Shiver" by Coldplay

**As I wrote this chapter, I always imagined "Miss You" playing in the beginning. It almost serves as the soundtrack for when Logan is rushing out of the house. The heavy bass and wacky synths seemed so oddly perfect, plus it's a much more upbeat song than what we've had in previous chapters. This chapter is a lot lighter in tone, so using this song as the chapter opener was a no-brainer.**

**And I want to thank TheaterKid for suggesting "Some Boys" by Death Cab! I've loved this band for years, but I've never really thought much of this song until now! And the great thing about this song for this chapter is that the lyrics, from Logan's perspective, can be applied to both Kendall and James.**

**And finally, I chose "Shiver" by Coldplay, because it's another song that can be interpreted multiple ways. For me, the song can either be for Logan to James or Kendall to Logan. I want to stress that this chapter isn't meant to set up a love triangle, but it's about how we find love in the most unexpected places and circumstances. Logan doesn't expect anything to come to fruition with Kendall, so he's still slightly stuck in his fantasy with James.**

**Anyway, please read, review, and enjoy!**

* * *

Like I had expected, I do nothing but toss and turn most of the night. And when I finally do fall asleep, I have nothing but weird dreams, most of which was of the intruder, as much as I'm embarrassed to admit. One in particular was of him attending my school. In that dream, everyone was scared of him—everyone but me. I saw through his tough façade and tried desperately to tell everyone that he was harmless. But he had everyone convinced I was crazy, and I was literally laughed out of school by the entire student body.

But the one dream that stands out above the rest was one in which I find the courage to walk up to James Diamond in the hallway and kiss him. I've had countless dreams in which I kiss James Diamond. Where it gets weird this time around is when James Diamond unzips himself from the face down, and out steps the fugitive. It's as if he tricked me by wearing a James Diamond costume the entire time, and they were his lips that I had actually kissed. The dream ended right before he leaned in for another kiss.

I wake up when a car horn goes off in the distance. I rub my eyes and check the time. Shit! I forgot to set the alarm last night! I jump up and throw the sheets aside, causing them to fall right on top of the sleeping intruder—or my new roommate, as it seems to be.

"Hey!" he exclaims.

"Sorry!" I apologize.

For a split second, I forgot that he was sleeping next to my bed. I don't make eye contact with him though. It's much too intense when I just had series of dreams revolving around him.

He rubs his eyes and looks at me. Even in the dim morning light, his eyes seem to sparkle a luminous yellowish-green.

"Mornin'," he groans as I struggle to hop over without falling on top of him.

"I'm late for school," I announce for no reason.

What does he care? He's running from the law, after all. The last thing he is concerned about is probably a little tardiness.

"Shit, that sucks," he says casually, mid-yawn.

"That's for your sincere concern," I say sarcastically as I hastily pull a hoodie over my head, throw on the first pair of jeans I find, and dash towards the bathroom.

I quickly brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face hoping to jolt me awake. I manically run my hands through my hair, in a desperate attempt to tame my wild bedhead, but it's of no use so I give up.

"You look fine, pretty boy," I hear him reassure me from behind.

"What are you doing?" I half-whisper and half-yell, addressing the fact that he's a fugitive walking around the house as if it's no big deal.

I didn't even register his compliment until now.

"Relax, your mom is gone," he brings to my attention. "She must've left early this morning."

I glance in the direction of her room and notice her bedroom door slightly open. It's empty, but it looks like she at least made her bed. She must have been called in for an early shift at the hospital. _Poor Mom_, I sympathize.

"I got to get going," I announce to him—again for no particular reason—as I slip on my shoes and sling my backpack over my shoulder.

"What? No good-bye kiss?" he jokes—at least I _think_ he was joking…

Surprisingly, I don't blush at his forwardness this time. Instead, I turn around and give him an annoyed look. I guess I'm growing accustomed to his twisted brand of humor.

He simply gives me a sly smile in return, exposing those dimples. This time, I turn away because I feel my cheeks reddening. I guess I'm not completely immune to him making me blush quite yet.

"Can I trust you to keep our house in one piece while I'm gone?"

"Yes, honey," he patronizes in a high-pitched voice, mimicking a girl.

"Bye," I say with a much deserved eye roll, before I exit the house.

Because I'm running late, I don't even process how insane it is that I'm allowing a fugitive to basically housesit for me while I'm at school.

I stop and contemplate on returning home and just skipping school entirely. But I know all the pitfalls that will come with deviating from my normal routine. My teachers will be suspicious since I never miss school, Mom will get a call from school, and I'll have to come up with a lie as to why I missed school—and everyone knows I can't lie or act, so playing sick is out of the question.

I finally decide—basically on the spot—that I will have to just go through my normal routine. It's better this way; less suspicion equals less trouble for Mom and me. _I have to trust him_, I convince myself as I half-sprint to school. He seems to trust me—at least to some extent. Otherwise, why would he allow me to go to school? How is he so sure I won't use this time to run to the police?

_This_ _would be the perfect chance to turn him in_, I remind myself. But it just doesn't feel right when he's given me his trust, only for me to betray him—not that I owe him anything... I still don't even know why he's running from the police, though. I'm conflicted as to what I should do. The dilemma rings through my head even more when I see a police cruiser parked a block from school.

I see the officer standing on the street corner, with his arms folded. He observes the students heading into school. I wonder what he's doing here… Perhaps he's simply a lookout. I'm sure they need to tighten security now that there's a fugitive running around town. Little do they know that the very guy they're looking for is actually hiding in my room.

The officer makes eye contact with me, and I give him a small smile but then look down and keep walking. I wouldn't want him to pull me aside and ask me questions. I'm still not confident in my abilities to lie. Besides, the fugitive is still in our home. Who knows what he might do if the cops corner him. I don't want to take any risks. I wouldn't want to put my mom in jeopardy.

I rush into school as the last few lingering students trail in. I barely make it to class, but luckily I get there in time for attendance. I feel winded from my unplanned morning run as I sink down into my chair. I sit through class, yawning from the lack of sleep and boredom. I think of the strange dreams I had last night. I wonder what they could mean. Why did I dream of Kenda—him, so much? I'm sure it's nothing. I'm sure it's because I had a very stressful day yesterday, of which he had a large part.

_How absurd has my life become in literally less than 24 hours?_ I ask myself rhetorically. _I can't believe I'm entrusting a fugitive to take care of our house_. More shocking is that I can't believe he trusts me to go out in public and not expose his whereabouts.

"Hey," a whisper breaks my reverie.

I instinctively look over my left shoulder, because I know who's calling for me.

"I tried calling you last night," my friend Camille informs me. "Where were you?" she mouths.

I don't respond. I'm too scared of getting caught. I glance at our teacher, and then back at Camille, signaling her of my reluctance to answer.

Come to think of it, I don't even remember hearing my phone ring. That may be because I was pinned and bound by a tall and very wet blonde fugitive. Camille doesn't let it drop though—not like I expected her to. She throws a crumpled and balled up sheet of paper at my head.

"Psst!" she hisses, as if I am not aware of her presence.

I try to ignore her, but knowing Camille, it'll only encourage her more.

In many ways Camille looks like the female version of me. She has fair skin and dark hair, and even our facial features slightly resemble. We always joke that we're twins, which is weird given the fact that she's had a crush on me since the sixth grade. We don't make a big deal of it anymore. I think she's come to accept the fact that I'll never see her as more than a good friend.

Although we may look alike, we actually couldn't be more different in personality. I'm more timid and reserved, while she's outspoken and theatrical. It only makes sense though, since she's in the drama club.

The bell rings and I instantly get up from my desk and head out of the classroom.

"Hey, wait up!" Camille yells from behind.

I don't wait though. Not because I'm intentionally trying to be rude, but because I'm just too preoccupied. I can't stop thinking about what he's doing at home… It's making me more anxious. And the fact that I'm here at school unable to do anything is not helping me feel at ease.

I should be at home, making sure he doesn't do anything that may cause trouble for me or Mom. But instead, I have to now live a double life, pretending to be a good student by day.

"Hey, why didn't you answer the phone when I called?" Camille whines when she finally catches up.

"Uh, I must have been in the shower or something."

"I texted you a bunch of times, too," she informs.

"Yeah, I was just busy, Camille. I'm sorry."

"Everything okay?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

She's too observant for her own good. Or maybe I'm just really awful at masking when something is bothering me.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I smile unconvincingly. "I'll call you later?"

"Okay, you better!" she says before she playfully punches my arm.

I go to the rest of my classes, with each one feeling longer than the last. I don't know what it is, but my mind is so far removed from school. In fact, my mind constantly and unrelentingly thinks of Kend—him.

When I finally make it to the last class, I'm bouncing with excitement and impatience. _I'm almost done!_ I tell myself. And not just with the day, with the week. In less than 50 minutes, I will be able to begin my weekend. Well, what weekend I can have with a stranger residing in my room. Mom will most likely be working a lot, like she typically does every weekend, which may be for the best. I don't want her knowing that I'm harboring a fugitive in my room.

A strange excitement comes over me at the thought of having some company for once—even if it's with someone who's running from the law. There has to be something wrong with me… I shouldn't be excited for something so insane.

My thoughts break as Mr. Rocque yells at us to quickly break up into pairs. Shit! I wasn't even paying attention!

Everyone seems to know where to go, as the other students begin to shuffle around and rearrange their desks. Are we picking a partner or were we assigned one? I sit there, lost and confused, hoping that if we were assigned a partner that mine will inevitably find me.

I look up and see—you guessed it—James Diamond standing in front of my desk.

"Looks like we're partners," he announces.

Holy. Shit.

No, no, no! This can't happen! I've dreamt of talking to James Diamond one-on-one, but not like this! I'm not ready for this! Not today! I probably look like hell! I'm sure I have bags under my eyes from the lack of sleep, and my hair and clothes look far from their best.

He swiftly slides a desk so it's directly across from mine, and he sits down. I smell his expensive cologne as he leans slightly forward.

I blush a little and realize I've haven't said anything to him yet.

"I'm lucky to have you," he says before I get a chance to speak.

"W-what?" I stammer.

James Diamond feels lucky to be with partnered up with me? That's basically the compliment of century as far as I'm concerned.

"Yeah, you're probably the smartest kid, Brandon."

"It's Logan," I correct with a slight agitation in my tone.

Is my name that impossible for him to remember?

"Oh, right."

I quickly change the subject.

"Um, so do you know what we're supposed to be doing?" I ask sheepishly.

"Me? I was hoping you would know," he laughs.

I shake my head. How embarrassing. I finally get to impress James Diamond and I'm failing miserably. Of all days to be daydreaming instead of paying attention. This is the fugitive's fault. He's slowly ruining my life.

"I think we're supposed to research the Battle of Gettysburg," he informs me.

"Oh, right, of course! I knew that!" I laugh manically.

He gives me a worried look—as well as the rest of the class. I clear my throat and straighten myself in my chair.

"Which one was that again?" James Diamond asks with a baffled look on his face. "Was that the one in the Middle East?"

I can only hope he's joking. At least he's pretty…

"No… the Battle of Gettysburg took place during the Civil War…" I wait for some hint of recognition from him, but get nothing. "In Pennsylvania…" Still nothing. "Its significance is so great that Abraham Lincoln even gave a historic speech that came to be known as the Gettysburg Address."

He shakes his head. It's of no use. I might as well been speaking a foreign language, because James Diamond has absolutely no awareness of what I'm talking about. This assignment will be harder than I thought.

"Well, since you seem to already know so much about it, maybe you should do the research and I'll just, I don't know, print out a bunch of photos," he suggests.

This somehow doesn't seem fair or sit right with me. This is exactly why I despise team projects and rather do everything solo; I always get stuck doing all the grunt work. Not this time, though. I'm putting my foot down, even if it's to James Diamond, who's insanely good-looking and—_Ok, stop it!_ I yell at myself. _Stand up for yourself!_

"No," the word slips out.

"What's that?"

I clear my throat and look him in the eyes. God, his eyes are beautiful…

_Focus! _

"No. We have to do this fifty-fifty. We'll do the research together and design the poster together. Sounds fair?"

"Yeah, I think that's fair," he affirms.

_See! You did it!_ I congratulate myself.

"So maybe we should meet up sometime this weekend," I propose.

"Your place or mine?"

The thought of having James Diamond in my room has been in countless fantasies of mine. But then I remember that I have a fugitive hiding in my room. Just my luck…

"Is it okay if we meet at your place?" I ask.

I can only imagine the two polar opposite guys meeting. I shiver at the image alone.

"Sure, that works," he shrugs.

We exchange numbers and when I actually hold James Diamond's phone number in my hand, it feels like I've won the lottery.

"You're not going to blow up my phone now that you have my number, are you?" I attempt joking with him.

"What?" he asks obliviously.

He clearly can't detect that I'm being facetious whatsoever. I instantly feel stupid for attempting to be witty or flirtatious. But I can't help but think how Kendall would have gotten my sarcasm, and probably even throw something witty back at me.

Shit. Did I just say his name to myself? What am I doing?

_Stop thinking of him!_ I scream at myself.

"Nothing," I mutter to James Diamond.

He still has a blank and carefree expression on his face. He's not registering anything. _At least he's pretty_… I repeat to myself again.

He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can the bell inconveniently rings.

"I guess I'll see you Sunday maybe?"

"Yeah, Sunday works for me," I confirm.

I smile as I think of the prospect of being alone with James Diamond.

I swap some textbooks from my locker and head home feeling… actually, I don't know what I'm feeling, to be honest. A small part of me is excited at the prospect of getting to be close to James Diamond, but another part of me worries of the fugitive. It's an odd mix of emotions that I can't say I've quite experienced before.

I hurry home, because firstly, the clouds are closing in on each other again, threatening rain. And secondly, I'm anxious to see if our house has been set on fire. I just don't know what to expect with him being at the house alone all day.

I take my usual shortcut, turn the street corner, and see—to my relief—that our house is still intact. At least, from what I can see from the outside…

I open the door and am immediately greeted by the smell of food. The entire house is perfumed with the smell of what I can only guess is some form of marinara sauce, and there's something definitely baking, too. This is an odd welcoming for me, especially in my own home. Mom usually isn't home before me… oh, fuck! Is Mom home _early_?

I run into the kitchen and my jaw drops.

"Welcome home, honey," the tall blonde intruder mocks.

I assumed it was Mom, but the sight of Kendall in the kitchen doesn't seem to fully register. I can't comprehend the fact that he's using our kitchen like it's no big deal, while wearing a silly apron to top it off.

"W-what the hell?" my idle brain stammers.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk… Do I have to wash your mouth out with soap, young man?" he continues to tease.

I look at the stovetop, which is completely occupied by various pots and pans. I was right—it was marinara sauce I smelled. And I also see pasta boiling away, and meatballs frying in a pan.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he says, as he tastes some of the marina. "I'm making dinner," he says with a smile of accomplishment.

"Should you be?" I challenge.

"Well, let's see… I'm hungry, so… yes," he says with an artful smile.

"Someone could see you, you know? My _mom_ could see you," I assert.

He turns around and huffs.

"You know, you really need to learn to relax. Your mom will be home late tonight, so sit down and take a load off," he tells me.

"How do you know?"

"She left a voicemail. Well, actually, she left several voicemails," he says. "All for her Logie-Bear," he adds in a mockingly saccharine voice.

I blush—naturally. Curse him for making me feel like a complete idiot in my own home. And curse my mom for leaving such embarrassing voicemails.

"You still shouldn't be running around the house. It's too dangerous."

"Who's running? I'm cooking," he winks.

"You could be seen by the police," I warn him.

"Isn't that what you want?"

"No!" I blurt out without realizing what I just said. "I mean, I don't know. Not like that. If you get caught hiding here, the police may think my mom and I are acting as accomplices," I quickly rationalize to cover-up my slip.

He doesn't say anything; he simply gives me a crooked smile and resumes cooking, whistling even. I'm rendered speechless.

Did nothing I say get through to him at all?

I glance at the TV, which I didn't even notice was on this entire time until now. It's on Food Network. He clearly got inspiration from watching it. As silly as it sounds, watching him cook makes him seem almost… _normal_ to me. I briefly forget that he's hiding from the law.

"Do you need any help?" I offer after doing nothing but awkwardly stand by the dining table.

"You could grab the garlic toasts out of the oven," he smiles.

"Garlic toasts, huh? You really did go all out."

I grab some oven mitts and think of what an odd pair we must look like. The two of us, crammed in this tiny kitchen, one with oven mitts and the other in a frilly pink apron, as if the world was somehow safe to live in again.

I take further notice of him in the silly apron and I realize he isn't wearing a shirt underneath. Oh, my… All this time I've been talking to him, I just assumed he had on a tank or sleeveless shirt, but he's clearly shirtless underneath.

"Like what you see?" he teases when he catches me staring.

"Uh, no. I mean, what happened to the clothes I gave you?"

"I didn't want to get the shirt dirty from cooking," he replies.

"Makes sense, I suppose."

"Would you like me to take off my pants, as well?" he smirks.

"NO!" I yell, almost dropping the hot tray of garlic toasts in the process.

"Whoa! Relax, I was kidding," he laughs. "Mostly," he adds with a half grin.

I burn a bright red, but hopefully he'll just mistake it from being in the hot kitchen.

He refuses my help with the rest, so I stand and watch him finish up. I notice his boxers poking out from his low hanging jeans, which I can only assume are his, because they don't look like anything I own. I think of how my mom would react if she saw Kendall—how he behaves, how he dresses. She'd immediately write him off and say he lacks all sense of propriety and decorum. A small rebellious part of me can't help but smile knowing I'm hiding him from her. What am I doing though? I'm still staring at his ass like a creep.

My eyes dart up, so I'm not undressing him with my eyes. But my eyes find his exposed back and his tattoo on his upper back. I caught a glimpse of it yesterday when he was changing, but I can get a better view of it today. It's a peace sign with all four elements represented in each segment of the tattoo. It's unexpected. I find it somewhat intriguing, even though I'm not one for tattoos. I try to study his other tattoos, but he turns around and tells me dinner is ready.

"Sit," he orders.

I obey him, because he's still intimidating to me—pink apron or not.

He serves up a huge plate of spaghetti, meatballs and all.

"Care for some parmesan, monsieur?" he asks in a goofy French accent.

I can't help but laugh at his silliness.

"I think you mean, signore," I correct.

"Shit. I fucked up the pronunciation that badly?"

"No, no, you said it fine. But we're having Italian, so it's signore, not monsieur."

I blush and look down, embarrassed by showing off my knowledge when I should just go with the flow with things more.

But when I look back up, he looks at me like he's impressed.

"You really do amaze me, you know that?" he says, which only causes me blush even more.

He stares at me for another moment, but then clears his throat and sits down to join me.

"Thank you," I reply awkwardly.

It's weird to be thanking someone who has intruded our home, but it's still rude not to thank someone that has cooked for me.

"You're welcome," he nods somewhat timidly, which is typical from me, but is weird coming from him.

I can only pray that he hasn't poisoned my food. I briefly have paranoid thoughts of how that was his plan this whole time. I wait for him to take the first bite, but he seems to be waiting for me to do the same. I reluctantly pick up my fork and twirl it in the spaghetti. I hold it up, and briefly glance at him, before I take a bite.

I chew slowly and meticulously—and nervously. I swallow and wait for the poison to kick in.

No poison. It's just all in my neurotic head.

He smiles and begins eating after he's seen I've successfully taken my first bite.

"How is it?"

"It's not bad," I critique.

In truth, it's not bad, but it's also not great. The sauce lacks seasoning, the meatballs are slightly overcooked and dry, and the spaghetti is a little too al dente even for my liking. I just don't have the heart to tell him the truth—he clearly worked hard. The garlic bread isn't half bad though.

"You can tell me the truth."

"No, it's… it's delicious," I lie for his benefit as I take another big bite.

"I knew it. It's shit!"

"No, it's not!" I try and protest.

He grabs his plate and is about to toss away his food, but I stop him. My hand meets his and he instantly looks down at our physical closeness.

I quickly retract my hand, but it was enough to get him to sit back down.

"You're such an awful liar," he comments as he resumes eating.

"And you're an awful cook," I joke, scrunching my face at him.

He simply laughs.

"I was only kidding. Well, half kidding," I tease.

He grins from ear to ear, showing his dimples.

It's weird… It's weird how I'm able to just joke and be myself around this stranger, who I still know so little about. It scares me that I feel this way, regardless of his charm. Maybe this was his thing; charm his caretakers then when he no longer has use for us, he'll rob us blind—or worse… I shake away the paranoid thoughts, because even if they were true, there's no point in thinking about them. I'll just be immobilized by fear.

"You have a little something on, uh," he rubs his nose, notifying me I have food on mine.

I hastily take my napkin to my nose and wipe off the marinara, while he sits and laughs at my expense.

Angry, I take my fork and fling some pasta and marinara, which lands on the pink apron he's still foolishly wearing.

"Oops, looks like you got some marinara on you, too," I patronize.

He looks at me, slides out from his chair and slowly stands up, towering over me.

Suddenly the joke looks like it might be on me…

His body charges at me and I'm tackled to the floor. All of sudden he's on top of me, pinning me down familiarly like yesterday.

Neither one of us can help but laugh, as we lie in splatters of marinara. The laughing ceases.

I look into his eyes, because they almost command it. They're so hypnotic that I can't seem to pull my gaze from them. His eyes look into mine, too, and I wish more than anything right now, I could know what he's thinking.

I feel his weight press down onto me, but it's not painful. His eyes scan my face and find my lips. My eyes instinctively look at his, too, but before anything happens he's off of me.

"I'm sorry," he says in a low voice, when he's at a less intimate distance.

"No, it's fine," I assure him, standing up and brushing myself off. "I'm fine."

"I'll clean up," he says changing the subject.

I'm left standing there motionless. Earlier I was afraid that somehow I would blindly open up to him and that his charm would be my doom. _Maybe it will_, I caution myself. _Maybe it will._


	5. Somewhere Only We Know

**A/N: And we're back! Sorry about no new chapter last week; busy work week + a case of food poisoning spells no productivity with writing! But I'm happy to give you guys another chapter of this exciting story, and I got to say, I'm really happy with the direction I'm going with it. I've already written the end as I usually do. I never start a story unless I know I want to end it, too. But now it's just a matter of writing everything in between to get us there to the end. Good news for you fans though; this story will be a lot longer than I had ever expected it to be!**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Burn It Down" by Linkin Park

"Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane

"I Will Possess Your Heart" by Death Cab for Cutie

**I chose all three of these songs because lyrically they made so much sense. "Burn It Down", for me, captures what Logan feels for Kendall, even though he may not want to admit it to himself quite yet. I think it's no secret at this point that this is a long story, in a very unconventional way, of course. It's about Logan allowing himself to open up, but he has a constant internal conflict within himself as to whether or not he should love Kendall, so I think Linkin Park's song captures that struggle really well.**

**For "Somewhere Only We Know", I wanted something really beautiful for the scene in the room, because it's a new start for them. And the lyrics are really about escapism and finding a sanctuary with someone else that truly understands you. In more ways than one, Logan's room provides this hideout and sanctuary for not just Kendall, but also Logan. And it's really theirs to share.**

**And lastly, I chose another Death Cab song (because who doesn't love some Death Cab?). This song, in my mind, is Kendall's song to Logan at this stage of the story. He's slowly winning Logan's heart, and I particularly love the lines, "How I wish you could see the potential/The potential of you and me". I always imagine this is what Kendall constantly thinks when he's with Logan. Also the lines "You gotta spend some time, love/You gotta spend some time with me/And I know that you'll find love/I will possess your heart" really captures what Kendall wants with Logan. He knows Logan sees him as not much more than a criminal, but he just wants Logan to give him a chance. Such a beautifully perfect song if you ask me!**

**Anyway, please review and let me know what you think! And please continue to send in song suggestions! I love that you guys react so positively to the song choices! I didn't think anyone actually bothered to listen to my song inspirations haha.**

* * *

I take a shower to wash the confusion of what happened in the kitchen off of me. I think of how physically close we got. His lips were mere inches from mine. If I didn't know any better, I would say we almost kissed… Or did I just imagine that? I gently bang my head against the shower tiles. Am I that foolish to fall for a criminal? _You're smarter than this_, I tell myself. Why am I letting this complete stranger have such an impact on me—to affect me so much?

I blast the water on cold to cool myself down from all the… excitement. I then turn off the faucet and quickly dry off. I go back into my room, but when I do, I find him lying on my bed reading a book.

Upon closer observation, I realize it's not a book he's reading—it's my journal!

"What are doing with that?" I shriek.

He calmly flips the page as if I hadn't even spoken.

"Who's James Diamond?" he asks with a strange curiosity in his voice.

"That's _not_ yours to read!" I say as I snatch my journal from his hands.

He sits up on the bed and folds his arms over his knees.

"I got bored," he shrugs as if this somehow justifies his invasive behavior.

"So, what, that makes it okay for you to go through my things?"

"You didn't mind when I went through your books and CDs," he reminds me.

"That was different. This is… personal."

He looks down and then back up at me. I barely make eye contact with him. I'm both humiliated and angry that he went through my things without my consent.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "But you still didn't answer my question," he adds.

"And I don't plan to," I state flatly.

"Do you like him?" he asks, clearly not letting go of the subject.

I ignore his question, as I grip the journal tightly against my body as if it were some kind of sacred relic.

"Does he like you?" he continues to probe.

I glare at him.

"I don't owe you anything. In fact, I want you out!" I yell. "You've been nothing but trouble for me since you've been here! Find somewhere else to hide!"

He looks hurt, but I don't apologize—I refuse to. I've been nothing but accommodating to him, when I have no need to be. He's the one that's committed some crime, whatever that crime may be, not me! Why should I have to suffer as a result?

He moves off the bed and stands up. He walks to me until he's inches from my face. I'm left motionless.

I swallow hard, and I feel a sting at my eyes. Tears brim my eyes, ready to spill out any moment. Damn, how I hate my weakness. I can't even stand up to someone without falling apart.

He leans in close to my ear.

"You deserve better," he says vaguely. "You deserve someone that _sees_ you and _appreciates_ you."

And then… he walks out of the room.

I'm left standing there, not entirely sure what happened. I just yelled at him and tried throwing him out and he gives me some quasi-compliment? What's this guy's problem? And why am I so angry? Sure, he read my journal, but what should I care? Why am I embarrassed if I sincerely don't care what he thinks of me?

I wipe the tears from my face, shove the journal back into my nightstand drawer, and I walk back into the living room to find him staring absently out the window.

"You shouldn't stand so close to the window. Someone could see you," I caution, bringing my voice back to a calmer decibel.

He simply scoffs as he stares out the window.

I can't bear him giving me the silent treatment. As strange as it sounds, I don't want him mad at me, not out of fear, but out of loneliness. I've been so used to having company—_any_ company—since he's been here, that it's hard for me to stand this tension.

"Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you," I say.

This gets his attention and he finally turns around.

"What are you doing?" he asks me, narrowing his eyes.

I'm not sure what he's getting at, so I shake my head slightly.

"Why are you apologizing to me?" he clarifies.

"I-I don't know… Isn't that what you want?" I ask sounding like an obedient fool.

He scoffs at me. He _scoffs_… at _me_!

"Why are you always so concerned about what others want, Logan?" It's weird hearing him address me by name. "What do _you_ want?"

"I don't—"

"Don't say 'I don't know'," he cuts me off before I can finish. "You do know. You're trying to apologize to me, when you have every right to be pissed. You want me gone, I'm gone. Stop apologizing for things you have no need to apologize for. So let me ask you again… what do _you_ want?"

"I want you to stay," the words slip out.

I feel like a fool for saying it, but there's something so haunting about him. I'm compelled by his mystery. I realize I need his presence. Normally, I think with my head, because he could very well be an ax murderer, for all I know at this point, but this time my logic is overruled.

"You aren't just saying that out of fear, are you?"

"No."

And that's the truth. But he still has a doubtful look on his face.

"I'm not afraid," I assert.

"You shouldn't be. Of me, of anyone, of yourself… You're stronger than you think."

I nod, just because I don't know exactly what else to say to that.

"Now please get away from the window," I protest.

He moves away from it and closer to me. I'm reminded how much taller he is than me. I swallow hard—not out of fear, but out of tension.

"I wish we could have met under different circumstances," he says.

His voice has shades of regret and sorrow—something I've only heard from him when he mentions his family.

I look at the tall blonde runaway. He has such a wounded quality under that tough façade—it's captivating. He's not what I thought he would be. He's not just some street punk or some riff raff. I may be digging my own grave, but somehow I want to befriend this lonely boy. In truth it's probably perhaps because I'm just as isolated from everyone else as he is.

"We could start over," I suggest.

He looks up at me.

"Hi, I'm Kendall," he says, extending his hand and giving me warm smile.

"I'm Logan. Nice to meet you, Kendall," I say as I shake his hand.

He stops, but keeps my hand in his.

"That's the first time you've called me by my name, you know?"

"That's not true."

"It is. You've never actually said my name," he enlightens.

I rack my brain to recall all the conversations we've had and I realize he's absolutely right. Up until now, I've only _thought_ of his name—and even that I've tried to resist as much as possible—but I've never actually said his name out loud. Well… except for yesterday in the shower when his name escaped my mouth… but he doesn't need to know that. I guess it wouldn't count anyway, because I didn't say it to him.

"I guess I haven't," I chuckle with chagrin.

"It's okay," he gives me a forgiving smile. "It's nice to hear someone call me by my name though. Usually people just call me 'punk' or 'kid'," he jokes, which I'm thankful that he does, because it helps break the intimacy growing between us.

"Do you want to listen to some music in my room?" I ask timidly.

_Think with your head_, I keep reminding myself. But it's proving much more difficult than I thought. I want to know this enigmatic person more.

"I'd love that," he replies with a crooked grin.

We return to my room and he sits on my bed. I pop in a mixed CD, and join him on the bed. It feels oddly like a date somehow, but I remind myself it's not.

We sit on my bed in silence, enjoying the music as it hums through room.

"I like this song," he finally says.

"It's by Keane," I inform. "It's one of my favorite songs of all time."

_Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?_

_I getting old and I something to rely on_

I take in the lyrics. They've always been beautifully written to me, but somehow they have a deeper meaning to me today.

_So tell me when you're gonna let me in,_

_I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin_

I think of the parallel. The song is about a safe haven for two people, a place only they know; where they can be alone. In many ways, this small inconspicuous room has always been my safe haven—an escape from the rest of the world. It retains me and allows me to be the loner that I am, even from my own mom. And now, it's a safe haven for Kendall, as well. It's somewhere only we know.

He needs me, because he has no one else. I think of the loneliness and sadness inside of him. I think of what a cruel and miserable life that must be for someone as young as we are. What has caused him to leave behind everything he's known?

The searing curiosity to find out why he's running from the cops is immediate, but something tells me this isn't the time. We're trying to start fresh, so bringing up such a sensitive topic may not be ideal right now. I decide to put it off.

I lean back and try to relax. I've been so tensed these past few days. I may as well try to go with the flow. He, on the other hand, is already making himself comfortable. Both his hands are behind his head and he's lied down on my pillow. I try to look at him from the corner of my eyes. I study his long and lean frame. The t-shirt that he has put on has slightly risen up, exposing the deep v lineation. My eyes follow his happy trail that leads to the boxers poking out from jeans.

He turns and looks at me. I quickly look down at my feet.

"What's wrong?" he chuckles at me.

"Nothing," I say, trying to suppress an unwelcomed blush.

"Lie down with me," he says, with a small tilt of his head.

The command sounds more sexual to me than he probably intended. It's probably just my own neurosis; I always think everything he says has a double meaning. Regardless, I nod and lay down beside him. We're physically closer than I thought we would be. I've never had anyone else besides myself in my bed.

He turns and looks at me again. I give him a nervous smile.

"Why do you still want me here?" he asks.

I'm silent for a moment, because I'm not entirely sure myself.

"It gets too quiet here sometimes," I finally say.

"Who knew I would make good company," he grins proudly.

"Yeah, I guess you aren't _too_ bad…" I tease.

We lay there, listening to my music, and talking about things we like and don't like. I'm surprised at how much we have in common. People would never guess it just by looking at us, but people are narrow-minded and myopic.

But, without realizing it, I doze off. It's not until I hear the front door slam, that I jolt up. I quickly look beside me and see that it's empty. A strange and irrational fear overtakes me at the thought of not seeing him again. I begin to panic when I don't see him in the room.

"Honey?" I hear my mom call from the living room.

I leave my room and close the bedroom door just in case.

"I'm here, Mom," I say, rubbing my eyes.

"Were you asleep?"

"I just dozed off for a bit," I say.

Actually, I don't even know how long I was asleep for.

"Oh, ok. Well, did you get my message at least?"

I look over at the red blinking light on the ancient answering machine.

"No, I didn't," I shake my head.

"Oh, well, I was just letting you know that I'm going to go see Nana this weekend. Did you want to come along?"

"Oh, I can't this weekend, Mom. I have an assignment with a classmate," I tell her. "I'm sorry."

"Aw, that's too bad. I'm sure Nana would love to see you."

"And I'd love to see her, too. Maybe some other weekend. Tell her I miss her," I request.

"You sure you'll be okay alone at home?"

I want to tell her that I won't actually be alone this time. Of course, I don't. And even if I were to be alone, it wouldn't be the first time. She's left me alone on the weekends on numerous occasions—this time should be no different.

"I'll be fine, Mom," I assure her. "When are you leaving?"

"Probably tonight," she says.

"Now?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd come home to grab a few things and say bye to you first."

"Why don't you just wait until tomorrow morning?" I suggest.

"I could, but I rather just drive tonight that way I can avoid the morning rush tomorrow."

"Well, be careful," I advise. "I'll go pack you a bag of your things."

"Aw, thank you, sweetie," she says giving me a kiss on my cheek. "Ooh, is that for me?" she points to a dinner plate filled with spaghetti, meatballs, and the garlic toast.

Kendall must have saved some for her. That was very thoughtful of him…

"Yeah, it is," I smile.

"Thank you, sweetie. What would I do without you taking care of things?" she beams as she tenderly rubs my face.

She has that proud-mother look. It upsets me that I've been lying to her, but I remind myself it's for the best.

"Go sit down and eat, Mom. I'll go start packing your things."

As she warms up her plate, I go into her room and grab her traveling duffle bag from her closet. I hastily grab various outfits from her closet, and some from her dresser, and fill her bag with clothes. I go into her en suite and pack her toothbrush and other toiletries I think she might need into the side compartment of the bag. I remember to pack her phone charger, because she always forgets to pack it, which is why I usually do the packing for her now when she travels.

When I finish, I peek into the dining area and find that she's still eating, so I duck back into my room. The evening sky has darkened my room, but I don't want to risk turning the lights on and potentially risk exposing Kendall.

"Kendall?" I whisper. I don't hear a response. What if he's gone? "Kendall. Are you still here?"

"Yeah, where else would I be?" I hear his voice from behind.

"Oh, thank god," I spin around and practically sigh from relief.

He smiles, but narrows his eyes at me.

"Did you… think I took off?"

"For a moment there, yeah…"

"Aw, you were worried… Did you miss me?" he teases.

Even in the dim lit room, I can see his green eyes twinkle. I'm thankful that the room is dark enough so he's not able to see me blush.

"Where were you?" I ask, intentionally changing the subject.

"I hid in the closet when I heard your mom come home," he tells me.

"I'm sorry, I fell asleep," I say sheepishly.

I can only pray that I didn't drool, snore, or mumble anything embarrassing in my sleep.

"It's alright. You look very… peaceful when you sleep."

I'm about to say something when I hear mom call my name.

I quickly exit my room and close the door behind me, right before Mom tries to enter. She's never bothered to come into my room before, but of course she decides to now when I'm hiding a teenage runaway.

"What's up, Mom?" I ask, blocking as much of the door with my body as possible.

"Did you finish packing everything?"

"Yep. I left the bag on your bed," I point in the direction of her room.

"Oh, perfect. Thanks, Logie-Bear."

_Why_… I'm constantly being embarrassed in front of him—by my own mother, no less!

"No problem, Mom. Drive safely. And call me when you get to Nana's."

"I will," she says before giving me a kiss on the cheek.

She leaves then she starts up the car and pulls out of the driveway. I wave good-bye to her and then the realization dawns on me: Kendall and I will be alone all weekend. I'm suddenly nervous.

I turn off all the lights in the kitchen and living room and go back into my room. When I open the door, I see Kendall resting on my bed, with his long legs sprawled across the length of the bed. The lamp on my nightstand that he's turned on illuminates his tall frame.

I close the door, even though it's just the two of us. _It's just the two of us_, I think to myself.

"My mom will be gone all weekend," I announce.

"Is that so…?" he says, suddenly perking up.

I don't know if his tone is implying something. And if he is, I can never tell if he's joking or not. I try not to overthink it.

"Yeah," I clear my throat. "So, if you want, I can sleep in her room, and you can sleep on my bed. That way you'll be off the floor."

"No!" he hastily yells. It takes me by surprise, but then he composes himself. "I mean, no, I can't have you out of my sight."

I narrow my eyes slightly, because I don't quite believe him. He trusted me to go to school, yet he can't allow me to sleep in a separate room that's less than ten feet away?

"So you rather sleep on the floor?" I ask suspiciously.

"Just as long as I can see you," he claims.

I don't buy it, but I don't question him anymore.

I get into bed, feeling tired once again, even though I fell asleep earlier. Kendall takes out the comforter from the closet and rolls it out on the floor next to my bed. He turns off the lamp and situates himself on his poor substitution for a bed. He squirms and tries to make himself comfortable, but I can tell that he's not. Sympathy hits me. I roll my eyes at myself, because I'm much too compassionate at times. It's one of my best and worst qualities, both at once. I can't leave him to sleep on the hard floor, especially on a colder night like tonight.

"You can sleep with me, if you want," I offer.

Upon hearing this he smirks and arches an eyebrow. I then realize how it must have sounded. My entire face turns crimson.

"I, uh, mean you can share my bed with me, you know… so you're off the floor."

"That's very kind of you," he chuckles. "But I'm sure you rather have the bed to yourself."

"It's okay. You can sleep in my bed tonight," I permit him. "I'm sure it beats sleeping on the floor."

He gives me a grateful look and slides into my bed, as I scoot over to make room for him. He shifts and squirms until he's made himself comfortable. We lay in the dark room, and I can smell his scent emanating off his skin—that's how close we are. I can feel his warmth radiate, too. I'm so used to sleeping in a cold empty bed, this is… different. Not bad different either.

"You don't mind being this close to a criminal?" he teases.

"I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can…" Kendall smiles slyly.

I blush because I know he's teasing me.

"Are you cold?" I ask when I see that he has no sheets covering him.

"I'm fine."

But I see him curling up his body, probably to generate and circulate some heat. Another pang of sympathy hits me.

"Here—we can share," I tell him as I pass some of the excessive blanket to him.

He doesn't refuse my offer this time. He curls under it, which brings up even closer together in order for the two of us to fit underneath.

"Better?" I ask him with sincere concern.

"Much better," he smiles looking into my eyes.

I gaze into his, because they're so hypnotic. I can't imagine anyone resisting his stare—it's next to impossible for me.

"Are you tired?" he asks, pulling me back from falling to deeply into his eyes.

"A little," I admit.

But surprisingly I'm not as tired as I was just moments earlier.

"Are you?" I ask.

"Not really."

We lie in silence for a bit, listening to our breathing and the wind gently tapping against my window.

"What's your favorite color?" he asks out of the blue.

"What?" I ask to make sure I actually heard his random question correctly.

"You favorite color—what is it?"

I think about it for a second.

"Um, I don't know, probably black," I reply, but it sounds more like a question than a statement.

"Hm, really? You really do surprise me. I wouldn't have guessed that," he states.

"Sometimes it's red," I add, feeling oddly self-conscious about my answer now.

Why does he want to know anyway? Is this his getting-to-know each other kind of thing?

"Red's a cool color. It means you're passionate," he says with a grin.

Upon hearing this, _I_ turn red.

"What's yours?" I ask back.

"Green," he replies confidently.

_Like your eyes_, I immediately think. And then I realize I'm staring at them again.

He continues asking me a bunch of random questions, the more personal ones I remain vague about. We don't really talk about our families, except when he asks me my mom's name, which I tell him it's Joanna, but I leave it at that.

We continue talking for who knows how long. Somehow I forget that I was even tired. I'm finally getting to know more about this mysterious guy that has come into my life—how could I possibly think about sleep now? It's strange how oddly comforting it is though, to have someone—even a practical stranger—in my bed. I realize how much I actually enjoy his company. I've been so used to being left alone that I developed a way to keep my guard up—so I would never feel hurt or rejected when people left me, especially after dad left—but I can now feel myself slowly dropping that guard…

I find that he's actually pretty funny. At one point, I realize have a genuine smile on my face, which I can't remember the last time that happened. We continue talking nonstop for hours—literally, because the dark sky is replaced with a warmer early morning glow. We converse until we cannot keep our eyes from closing.

I finally drift to sleep, peaceful at the thought of knowing I won't awake alone—someone will be right beside me.

* * *

**Too impatient for next chapter? Review this chapter and I'll message you an exclusive preview of next chapter!**


	6. Alive

**A/N: For those that received a preview of this chapter, I hope it was enough to tide you over, but now here's the full chapter to quench your Kogan thirst! ;)**

"What If The Storm Ends?" by Snow Patrol

"Wonderwall" by Oasis

"Trying To Be Cool" by Phoenix

"Open Your Eyes" by Snow Patrol

**So, this chapter I had a lot of song inspirations, but I narrowed it down to the four most pivotal ones! I chose two songs by Snow Patrol, because they're an amazing band first off, and the songs simply capture the mood so perfectly. The first song by them, "What If The Storm Ends?", is so melodic and beautiful, and I think it soundtracks the opening scene of this chapter nicely. Plus, the song is about a new beginning or fresh start, which is happening with these guys. They've both opened up to each other much more, so the song fits that theme.**

**I chose "Wonderwall" simply because it's one of the most beautiful love songs ever written in my opinion. It's timeless and lyrically genius. I've wanted to put this song into one of the chapters for a long time, but I wanted to also wait until it suited the content. Without spoiling too much, I really think the song was placed in the perfect part of the story. The cool thing about the song is it can be interpreted from Logan or Kendall's point of view. If you've never heard this song, do yourself a favor and listen to it. Like, right now. ;)**

**For, "Trying To Be Cool", I needed a song that felt a little bit humorous for the context of the second half of the chapter. Again, without spoiling too much, Logan has a tough time trying to just be himself, so I thought the upbeat sound of Phoenix added a nice comedic touch to Logan's neurotic behavior.**

**Lastly, I chose the second Snow Patrol song, "Open Your Eyes", because lyrically it's what I imagine Kendall wants to express to Logan. He wants Logan to, excuse the pun, open his eyes and realize that he could love him like no one else can.**

**Please review and let me know what you think!**

* * *

I wake up and, for the first time in days, feel refreshed—that's probably because I slept through half the day. I look over at the handsome blonde sleeping next to me. His chest rises and falls with his steady breathing. His long lashes make him look angelic, peaceful even. I wonder if this is how I looked to him last night. His lips slightly part and I notice how sensuous his mouth looks, especially his plump lower lip. As I study him in his sleep, I realize how young and innocent he appears. I have to remind myself that he's my age, which I had suspected, but had it confirmed to me last night while we stayed up talking.

I think of all the pillow talk we did last night, and a smile involuntarily emerges on my face. I hate to admit it, but I really enjoyed talking to him. Most people don't understand how lonely it gets living with a single mother who's hardly ever home. Reading became my best friend for a good chunk of junior high as a result. But now, I have this fascinating, witty, enigmatic person I can talk to.

_Don't forget sexy_, my brain says.

_Shut up! It's not like that!_ my rational side yells back.

_Oh, isn't it? Is that why you've been staring at him while he sleeps? _

_I'm not staring! _

_Uh-huh, suuuure… Keep telling yourself that. _

_Okay, so what if he happens to be easy on the eyes? That's not something I can control. I don't like him… It's just nice to have someone I can finally talk to. I wouldn't even call us friends. We're just keeping each other company so neither one of us gets cabin fever. _

_Admit it. You like him! It'll be any day now that you'll jump his bones!_

_Shut up! _

I turn off my neurosis, because the internal dialogue is confusing the hell out of me. I look at him again when he tosses briefly. His eyes slowly open and I give him a small smile. He stretches his long arms and almost hit my face.

"Mornin'!" he beams.

I can tell he slept a lot better on the bed than he did on the floor.

"More like afternoon," I inform him pointing to the clock.

He looks over and sees that it reads quarter past one.

"Oh, shit. We really slept in, didn't we, babe?"

I flinch upon hearing him call me 'babe', but I pretend like I didn't hear it.

"How'd you sleep?" he asks.

"A lot better than I've been sleeping," I confess.

"Did you have any good dreams?" he asks through a husky morning voice.

"No, surprisingly not. I think I was too tired to even bother dreaming. Why, did you?"

He grins from ear to ear, then lifts the blanket up and looks down, uh, down south…

"Yep. I had a _very_ sweet dream," he smiles coyly.

"Gross!" I say as I turn beet red.

"Relax… I was joking. Kind of," he adds with a wink.

The red in my cheeks refuses to fade.

"We should, uh, get up," I mumble.

I get up first to brush my teeth and wash my face. He joins me a few minutes later, and brushes his teeth beside me in the cramped bathroom. He looks good even with his bedhead. Feeling like the bathroom is much too crowded, I tell him I'll go make breakfast, since it's no secret I'm the better cook. He smiles as he continues to vigorously brush his teeth.

I head into the kitchen, turn on the stove, and place a large frying pan on top of it. I pull out some eggs, bacon, green onions, shredded cheese, milk, and tomatoes from the fridge.

I start by beating the eggs and add the other ingredients to make my omelets. When the first omelet finishes cooking, I slide it onto a plate and pour the rest of my egg mixture to cook my second omelet. As I wait on that to cook, I pour two tall glasses of orange juice. I wonder to myself if Kendall likes orange juice. I then wonder about his other likes and dislikes. From our conversation last night, I now know that he hates spinach, peas, celery, and has never tried tofu.

"Mmm, smells good," Kendall comments as he sneaks up behind me.

"Oh, thanks."

"I meant you," he whispers in my ear.

I blush, but finish up plating our food. I realize he's standing awfully close behind me. The close proximity makes me nervous and I accidentally drop one of my omelets.

"Shit!" I curse.

"Here, let me clean it up," he offers as he picks up the shattered pieces of ceramic.

I had hoped that some of the omelet could be saved, but we throw all of it in the trash.

"I'll make us another one," I groan, frustrated at my own clumsiness.

"Dude, you don't have to do that. We can share," he suggests. "That thing looks like it could feed a family of five," he teases to make me feel better. Surprisingly, it works.

I smile and nod my head. I place the plate in the middle of the table and sit down. Kendall gets us two forks and brings over the glasses of juice. He joins me and we begin eating the enormous omelet.

"Mmm, this is fucking amazing," he praises.

Only I wish he wouldn't use so many expletives to describe my cooking.

"Thanks," I smile modestly.

"No, seriously, this is great! I've never had an omelet before," he admits.

"Really?" I say in genuine surprise. "Never?"

He shakes his head. I feel such sympathy for him. I imagine all the privileges and experiences I have—and take for granted—that he's never had. I think of what a deprived childhood could do to someone.

He continues to praise my cooking with each bite. When we get to the last bite, we look at one another because neither one of us wants to take the last bite from the other.

"Go ahead," I tell him.

I've had hundreds of omelets in my life, and I know how much he's enjoyed this one. He smiles and picks the last bite up with his fork, but then holds the fork out for me.

"For the beautiful chef," he says with a wink.

I blush but take his offer. He practically feeds me the last bite, and I'm embarrassed at how intimate I'm allowing myself to be with him. First the clothes, then sharing the bathroom, then sleeping in the same bed, and now him feeding me like we're some love-struck couple at a Parisian café? It's all becoming too much, so I simply down my entire glass of orange juice and quickly clear the table as if nothing happened.

He notices my shift in mood, but he lets me go about my business and doesn't question or harass me like he usually does. I quickly wash the dishes and luckily by the time I'm done, my face is no longer flushed with embarrassment.

I dry my hands and when I turn around, the table has been cleared but I don't see him. I poke my head into the living room but he's not there either. I head towards my room because that's the only other place he could be. I hear my stereo on—the volume is low, but music is playing for sure.

When I enter my room, I see a shirtless Kendall searching through my music.

"Oh," I gasp.

"Hey," he says turning around. "Mind if I borrow another shirt?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, of course," I mumble.

I pull open a drawer and throw him a shirt that's on top of the pile. He catches it and immediately slips it on. Instantly, we realize it's not even my shirt he just put on.

One of Mom's shirts must have accidentally got mixed in with my laundry, because he's wearing one of her tees. It's practically a mid-drift on his long torso. He looks down and rolls his eyes.

I burst out laughing, because it's simply impossible not to.

"This is twice now that you've given me clothes that are too small," he grimaces as he cocks his head to the side.

"I'm sorry," I manage to say in between my fits of laughter.

"Ha ha… very funny. Let's make fun of the tall guy!"

He digs through the closet and finds an oversized sweatshirt.

"What about this one?" he asks picking up the sweatshirt with the writing 'U of M' emblazoned on it.

My laughter subsides.

"That was my dad's," I announce. "Mom must've accidentally mixed that in with my laundry, too."

"Oh. I'm sorry," he says handing over the sweatshirt to me.

"No. No, it's fine. Not like he misses it or anything. Just like he doesn't miss anything else here," I say more somberly than I intended.

He looks at me with curious and sympathetic eyes. Why does he keep doing that? I don't need pity, least of all from a guy holding me hostage in my own home.

"Go ahead," I tell him, handing him back the sweater with the attached fading memory.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," I say flatly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks me.

I look at him. I look into those bright green eyes of his, and for a brief moment, I really do want to tell him. But I remind myself that I've opened up to him more than I probably should have, so I shake my head.

He looks hurt for a fraction of a second, but he composes himself again. He may think I have my guard up constantly, but he seems to have a guard of his own as much as I do. Where I close myself off and remain quiet, he uses jokes and his charisma to avoid opening up. He may have others fooled, but I see the small nuances in his facial expressions. They don't stay there for long, but they're there nonetheless. It's all a façade.

"I get it," he says feigning a smile. "You don't think the criminal would understand, right?"

"What? I never said that," I say defensively.

"You didn't have to," he says quietly.

"That's not fair."

"I get it, I get it… You still don't fully trust me."

This pisses me off. He says I don't trust _him_. I don't owe him my trust. It should be the other way around.

"Maybe I will when you tell me what you're being chased for," I shoot back.

This time, he's the one that goes silent. But he's quick to compose his face again and puts on a fake smile, as if he wasn't fazed by my directness. He deserves a taste of his own medicine.

"Are you really so eager to know?"

"What do you think?" I ask rhetorically.

"You aren't worried that it may be too much for you to handle?"

This is clearly his attempt at scaring me off the subject. It's not going to work. If he expects me to be open with him, he needs to come clean with me first. So, I shake my head with conviction.

"You don't know what I'm capable of," he says in a lower tone. "I'm surprised you didn't sleep with one eye opened," he jokes.

"Why should I? I'm not afraid of you."

"Is that a fact?" he says with devilish smile.

"It is."

He saunters over and I brace myself because, with him, I just never know what to expect.

"Are you _sure_ you aren't afraid of me?" he challenges, still wearing that sly smile.

"I thought you said I shouldn't be afraid of anyone," I challenge back.

"I lied. You should be afraid, Logie-Bear. You should be _very_ afraid," he grins playfully.

Even when he's threatening me in jest, it's still seductive…

"I'm not," I assert.

And then instantly he tackles me and wrestles me to the ground.

"Hey! No fair! You didn't give me a fair warning!" I protest.

He just laughs and interlocks his fingers with mine, pinning me to the floor.

"I told you that you should be afraid," he chuckles as I struggle to wrestle back.

What's with him and wrestling me to the ground? This is three times now. Is this just his way of physically touching me?

I thrashing around, hoping to break his tight hold of me, but it's no use. He's much stronger than me. I wasn't able to fight him off when we first met, so I doubt I will be able to now.

"Say you were wrong and I'll let you go," he demands.

I simply shake my head stubbornly, which only causes the grin on his face to widen even more.

"So stubborn… If I didn't know any better, Logan, I'd say you like me on top of you."

I feel his crotch pressing against mine. Oh, god… I think I'm… I think I'm getting _hard_… I flush complete red. I'm mortified at my lack of control! And what's worse is I think he notices, because he looks down, but he doesn't address it—thank god! I feel his weight pushing down harder on me. I let out an involuntary moan.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks with alarm.

"Not quite," I moan and close my eyes as I try to quickly calm myself.

_You need to cool down! Now!_ my subconscious demands.

I finally and tentatively open my eyes. He has leaned down closer to examine me. He's inches away from my face.

"If I hurt you, let me know," he says tenderly.

"You didn't. I'm fine. I'm more than fine," I say with a needy edge in my voice.

He looks into my eyes. I look into his. I bite down on my lower lip and I see him lick his. He's incredibly handsome right now. I can't deny it anymore—I'm attracted to him. Something is happening between us. I feel it. And I know he does, too. It's almost tangible. It's coursing through us, igniting every cell in our bodies. It's both terrifying and exciting at the same time. I don't know what is about him, but I want him… I want _all_ of him.

It doesn't help that a love song by Oasis is currently playing on my stereo, either.

_I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now_, the song plays.

I know it's irrational, but I simply don't care right now. He's the most exciting thing in my mundane life—he's caused a fire to grow inside of me. It's visceral and intense. I need him to help put out the fire or it will soon consume me. He moves even closer. I can smell his cool breath before it hitches. His body tenses up, as does mine. I want to feel his lips against mine. I want to feel _alive_.

_There are many things that I would like to say to you—_

_But I don't know how_

I close my eyes again, because I want to _feel_ the moment. But—as bad timing usually goes for me—the doorbell rings.

My eyes open and frustration has never been greater than it is now. His annoyance is obvious, too, but he gets off of me, allowing me to see who has interrupted us during such a crucial moment.

"It could be the cops," I warn him.

He nods; clearly he's already one step ahead of me. He ducks into the closet—his go-to hiding place, it seems.

I open the door and I'm shocked to see James Diamond standing at my front door.

"James Diamond! I mean, uh, James… w-what are you doing here?" I stammer.

"We have that assignment to do. Did you forget?"

"N-no! Of course, not James Diamond, I mean, James!"

_Get it together, Logan! _I yell at myself.

"But, I thought we had agreed to meet at your place on Sunday. Today is Saturday, and it's, uh, clearly not your place," I chuckle nervously.

"I know we agreed meeting tomorrow at my place, but I have a family thing that I can't get out of tomorrow," he groans rolling his eyes. "I tried calling you earlier," he adds.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have had my phone on silent."

"No worries. Well, I figured if you're free we could just try to finish it today. You didn't have any plans today, did you?"

"Oh, well, no, but—"

"Oh, perfect!" he exclaims, cutting me off before I can finish.

He comes in before I'm able to protest or even invite him in.

"Come on in," I mutter to myself after he's already walked past me.

"Nice place," he comments looking around our single-floor home.

"Thanks," I say self-consciously.

I'm sure his house is much more impressive compared to ours.

_He's trying to be polite_, my subconscious tells me.

I see that he's brought his backpack with him. I study what he's wearing—a simple white V-neck tee that hugs his athletic build and some fitted jeans. His hair is perfectly styled. He's the definition of physical beauty. I suddenly feel insecure just being in his presence.

_Keep it together! _

"Should we do it in your room?" he asks.

"_What_?" I exclaim.

"The assignment—should we do it your room?" he elaborates.

My mind immediately thought he was referring to something else.

_You wish_, my snarky subconscious snickers.

Then I realize that Kendall is still hiding in my room.

"My room!" I blurt out uncontrollably.

"Oh, okay," James Diamond shrugs and then heads towards my room.

"No! Wait! I didn't mean—" but it's too late, because he already enters my room.

"I like your room," he comments.

"Thanks," I say as my eyes anxiously dart towards the closet. "But hey, let's go work in the living room. My room's too small," I attempt.

"What are talking about? It's fine. And besides, we can listen to music while we work," he states gesturing to the stereo that's still on.

"Well, we can always move it into the living room," I suggest as my eyes dart towards the closet door again.

I then notice the closet isn't entirely closed.

"That's not necessary. It's perfectly fine here," James Diamond says as he unpacks his things from his backpack.

I have to admit defeat. I'm out of reasons to get him out of the room. I only hope that Kendall can last in that closet for the next few hours. Geez, this could all have been avoided if had checked my phone.

I go and check it while James Diamond continues emptying his bag, and I see that he did indeed call and even left me a text. I also see that Mom had texted me to let me know she made it safely to Nana's, and I see a bunch of missed calls from Camille. I'm not really surprised by the last part.

"Are you going to join me?" James Diamond asks.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," I reply meekly.

I go over and sit beside him on my bed, since I lack a proper study desk in my room. I think of all the times I've imagined James Diamond in room, and now he's sitting on my bed… I then realize I've been holding my breathing.

_Relax… Breathe…_ I repeat this mantra over and over to myself.

I slowly exhale and regain my composure. As I try to bring my breathing back to normal, I smell his delicious scent. Geez, he smells wonderful… different from Kendall, but good nonetheless. I can't help but glance over at the closet again. I wonder what Kendall is thinking. It's awkward having my school crush and a guy I had almost kissed in the same room.

That kiss… For a brief moment I had almost forgotten about it. I imagine Kendall's lips again. They looked so soft. They were begging to be kissed…

"You okay?" James Diamond asks, breaking my daydreaming.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," I apologize.

"Hold still. You have something in your hair," he informs me.

"Oh, I do?" I blush with chagrin.

"Yeah, it's right there," he tells me as he reaches towards me.

We hear a rumble in the closet. Both our eyes instinctively look over.

"What was that?" James Diamond asks.

"What was what?" I attempt at playing dumb.

"That noise just now," he says scanning the room.

"I didn't hear a noise," I chuckle nervously.

He narrows his eyes, but drops the subject.

"Hang on, you still have that thing in your hair," he says.

He reaches and picks it out, which turns out to be a piece of thread that must have gotten in my hair when I was pinned on the floor.

We hear another noise come from the closet.

"Okay, there it is again!" James Diamond exclaims.

"Oh, that? Uh, it's nothing. Sometimes the walls just shift and knock things around," I attempt at lying.

"Doesn't sound very safe," he comments.

"Well, what can you do, right?" I laugh nervously as I walk over to the closet and close the closet door. "If these damn WALLS can just keep it down then we can get to work," I say aloud, directing it towards Kendall.

I hear a light pounding from inside the closet. I know it was intentional. God, he's so damn stubborn… I pound on the closet door back to retaliate. James Diamond gives me a worried look as if I'm a lunatic.

"Sometimes I have to pound on the closet door, because it gets stuck," I chuckle uneasily.

Is Kendall trying to get himself caught? He needs to get it together.

I sit back down on the bed and we finally are able to get to work without any more interruptions.

It takes us longer to finish than I thought it would. Apparently, James Diamond still isn't aware that the Battle of Gettysburg was during the Civil War, even though we've focused solely on the Civil War in class for the past four weeks.

"Is that the one where we dropped those bombs in Japan?" he asks at one point.

"No," I sigh in frustration and impatience with his lack of knowledge. "Those were the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki during World War II," I try enlightening him.

"Ohhh, okay… And it wasn't that thing with the Cubans… and the missiles…?"

"No, you're thinking of the Cuban Missile Crisis during the Cold War," I sigh, growing more and more impatient at how much time I've spent just telling James Diamond what topic we're covering.

"So Cuba isn't part of the U.S.?" he asks without irony.

I want to face-palm myself…

"No, it's not," I simply smile, because I have nothing nicer to say.

I hear a snicker come from the closet.

_That isn't helping!_ I want to yell at Kendall.

As much as I've dreamt for years and years of having alone time with James Diamond, something in me wishes he wasn't here right now. I rather be sitting here with someone else… Strangely, a part of me wishes it was Kendall sitting beside me. He may not necessarily be what you call book smart either, but he's not oblivious or clueless either. He's witty and charming and easy to talk to…

_And don't forget sexy!_ my brain annoyingly reminds me.

I glance back up and my fantastical mind imagines Kendall sitting next to me in place of James Diamond. The imaginary Kendall smiles at me warmly, exposing those dimples. His green eyes shine brightly, tenderly, and adoringly. I smile back because I'm so happy to see him, which scares me how much he's grown on me. It's only been a couple of hours and I already miss him. He leans in and I know what's coming next… I yearn for his kiss… But he opens his mouth to speak instead—only it's not his voice that comes out.

"What are you doing?" James Diamond's voice cuts through my reverie.

"Huh?"

"Your eyes were closed," he states. "Did you fall asleep?"

"Uh, no. I'm sorry," I apologize as I turn scarlet. "I guess I'm just distracted today."

"Well, we got a lot done today, I think. Let's call it a day," James Diamond proposes.

Surprisingly, I'm relieved when I hear this.

"Okay, we can finish the rest in school."

"Cool. I'll see Monday then," he says as he packs up his things.

"Alright, I'll see you then."

_Achoo! _

The loud sneeze comes from the closet.

"Gesundheit!" I quickly say to James Diamond, because I don't know what else to say.

"What?"

"Bless you."

"But I didn't sneeze…"

"Oh, well then bless… me?" I smile sheepishly.

He narrows his eyes at me but drops the subject again. Yep, he _definitely_ thinks I'm crazy…

He takes his things and I walk with him to the front door. He waves good-bye and hops into his shiny red convertible and peels out of the neighbor, running absentmindedly through a stop sign. _Good thing he's pretty_… I think to myself.

I lock the front door and know that I have to talk to Kendall about what it means to be _hiding_, because he did an awful job just now. I head towards my room and I then realize that I've never been more excited to see someone in my entire life…


	7. Breathless

**A/N: This is a pretty lengthy chapter, but it's filled with Kogan goodness. Enjoy! ;)**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Fader" The Temper Trap

"The Engine Driver" by The Decemberists

"Take My Breath Away" by Berlin

**I love The Temper Trap, and I particularly love "Fader" by them. I think the song suits the constant bantering between the Kendall and Logan. It shows their love is unconventional and imperfect.**

**I chose "The Engine Driver" because I think from Kendall's perspective it completely sums up his life. He's not from money like James Diamond and he has a dark past, but he has so much love to give to Logan. He wants to be many different things, but he doesn't have the resources to change his life. He feels like he'll never be able to live up to Logan's expectations, which is why we see his jealous when James Diamond's name gets brought up. I just also love how sad and broken the lead singer sounds in this song; it really helps capture Kendall's mood.**

**Finally, I chose "Take My Breath Away" because it's a timelessly beautiful and sexy song. Enough said. ;)**

**Enjoy and please review! **

* * *

Relief washes over me when I close the front door. For one, I don't have to continue differentiating the different wars for James Diamond. And secondly, I don't have to convince him that I'm not harboring a fugitive in my bedroom closet. Granted, he may think I've lost my mind, but fortunately I don't think he figured out what was really going on.

I march into my room and open the closet.

"Can I help you?" Kendall jokes still standing casually in the closet.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask angrily.

"A lot, so you'll need to be more specific," he continues quipping with a straight face.

"Is everything a joke to you? You are terrible at keeping a low profile, by the way."

"Hey, it's not my fault your closet is so dusty," he says rubbing his nose for dramatic effect as he plops himself onto my bed.

"Okay, so you're forgiven for the sneeze, but what the hell was with all those other noises you were making in there?"

"Relax. Your little friend there had no clue. He didn't seem like he had any clue about anything actually."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I grimace.

"He didn't seem all that smart, if you ask me…"

I don't deny it, because let's face it, James Diamond isn't the brightest.

"Well, you didn't need to be so obnoxious!"

"What's the big deal anyway?"

"The big deal is… you should have kept it down, alright?"

"You're getting really defensive over nothing," he scoffs. "Did I ruin your date or something?" he teases.

I blush and ignore his question.

"Oh my god," he narrows his eyes. "_That's_ the guy, isn't it? That's James Diamond!" he ridicules as he bolts up from the bed.

"W-what? No!" I try to deny.

"Yes, yes it is! That's the guy from your journal!" he exclaims widening his eyes in what appears to be disbelief.

"Shut up!" I yell in embarrassment as I cover my face with my hands.

This only causes him to laugh at my expense.

"He's an idiot!" he laughs in my face.

"Hey! He's a _pretty_ idiot!" I defend as my entire face turns red.

"Oh, geez! You could do so much better than that half-wit!"

"Now you're just patronizing me," I frown.

His laughing calms and he looks at me with seriousness.

"No, I'm not. You're chasing after someone who doesn't deserve you—someone who's probably more in love with his comb than he'll ever be with anything or anyone else," he rants.

"You don't know him," I say in James Diamond's defense.

In truth, it's also partially in my own defense, too. I'm slightly embarrassed for liking someone that lacks any depth.

"Oh, but, what—_you_ know him?" he challenges.

"Okay, maybe not, but I know that he's kind. He certainly isn't constantly making fun of me, unlike a certain _someone_…" I stare at him to drive the point home.

"I'm just honest with you," he smirks. "You don't need someone that nods their head and just agrees with you all day."

"What's wrong with that?" I frown.

"It's boring!" he groans. "Don't you want someone to tell you when you're being a dick?"

"Absolutely not!" I exclaim as I blush.

"Admit it, you do… You want someone that stirs something inside of you—changes your world—someone that excites you, and makes you feel like you've never felt before," he says looking me dead in the eyes.

I try to appear unaffected by his charm.

"What—and just argue all day?"

"Yes!"

"What? Now you're just talking crazy," I roll my eyes.

"I'm serious! Love shouldn't be tamed. It's not going to be clear skies all the time. It's hard work, but it's worth it, because it's about fighting for something that is fucking _worth_ it!"

"I think we have very different ideas of what love should be," I say quietly.

He closes the gap between us. He grabs my hand and holds it to his heart. I let out a small gasp and my breathing halts.

"You need that fire," he explains as he looks into my eyes, perhaps more intimately than either one of us is used to.

"Maybe I don't want something as destructive as fire," I counter, swallowing nervously. "Maybe I want—"

"What?" Kendall interrupts. "Something boring? Something predictable?"

I'm offended. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know what I want.

"No, not boring or predictable. But well-managed… controlled," I rationalize.

He scoffs at me, which stings a little, if I'm being honest.

"Love shouldn't be about control. It should be irrational, desirous, and all-consuming. It should be passionately fiery can't-live-without-you love," Kendall declares.

I'm not entirely sure whether these were the beautiful words of a romantic or the deceptive words of a criminal, but I'm captivated by Kendall's poetic depiction of love. I've never experienced it, love that is, but now—more than ever—I want to. But every time I feel like I can just be myself around him, I have a voice reminding me that he's not just any guy—he's a guy with a dark secret.

I compose my noticeably adoring face and simply say, "Well, I was never a fan of the heat anyway."

The tall blonde smiles from ear to ear—exposing his dimples—causing my heart to skip a beat.

"I'm sure you like the heat just fine," he grins.

I realize my hand is still placed on his chest, so I retract it.

"You just need to be more careful when people are around," I caution him, intentionally changing the subject.

He just grins and jumps back on my bed.

"So, what should we with all of our free time?" he asks bouncing his eyebrows up and down.

I try and pretend I'm too oblivious to detect his suggestive tone.

"I have board games," I blurt out because of nerves.

I instantly want to face-palm myself for suggesting something so lame.

Kendall doesn't laugh or tease me for it though. He simply smiles at my obvious embarrassment and shrugs.

"Sure," he says.

"Really?" I ask in astonishment for him not ridiculing me for my complete lameness.

"Yeah, why not? What do you have?"

"Um, we have Scrabble, Monopoly, Game of Life, Boggle, Checkers, Chess, Backgammon, Connect Four, Parcheesi…" I ramble on like the social piraya that I am.

"Why don't you just surprise me," Kendall interrupts as politely as possible.

I nod and run out of room and dig through the stacks of board games in our coat closet. I go back into the room with the Game of Life in tow.

"Is this one okay?" I ask self-consciously.

"It's absolutely fine," he gives me an assuring smile.

I smile sheepishly and join him on the bed. I lay out the board games and set up all the pieces. I can feel his eyes on me as I do this, which only makes me feel more self-conscious.

"Want to help me?" I ask so he'll be busy with something other than staring at me.

He nods and helps assemble the remaining game pieces.

"How exactly do you play this game?" he asks surveying the colorful board.

"It's fairly straight forward. You spin the roulette here and then whichever space you land on you either gain money, lose money, or have a life event happen. At the end of the game, whoever has the highest net worth wins," I explain.

He scratches his head, but goes along with it anyway.

"Here, I'll go first and show you," I chuckle.

It's kind of cute how baffled he looks right now. I realize I'm staring at him, after I told him I would take a turn first. I spin the roulette and move my game piece. I notice that his game piece is green—his favorite color. I then notice that I chose the red piece by pure coincidence. Or perhaps it was instinct.

"_Red's a cool color. It means you're passionate,"_ I recall him saying the other day.

Kendall takes his turn and spins. After a few rounds he gets the hang of it and we play without any hiccups. I never realized how easy and tedious this game is. I used to love playing it any chance I got. Then again, the last time I played this game was when I was thirteen. I was much more easily entertained back then.

By the end of it, I beat Kendall with a net worth of over $1 million compared to his $955,000. Both of us end up married, with him having three kids, two of them being twin girls, and me with two kids—a girl and a boy.

"Shit, if only this were real money," he says fanning his stack of money, clearly not too disappointed with his earnings.

Right then, I can't help but wonder if what he's being pursued for has something to do with money. Maybe he robbed a convenience store. I don't know, but then again I wouldn't since we still haven't talked about it. Every time I try, he changes the subject. I guess if I'm being honest, a part of me is also scared of what I may uncover, too. Maybe ignorance really is bliss.

But my curiosity—and perhaps stubbornness—proves greater than my fear.

"Are you ever going to tell me?" I ask when I can't hold it in any longer.

"Tell you what?" he says in a low voice, keeping his eyes intentionally down, which signifies me that he knows exactly what I'm talking about, but just trying to dodge the question.

"You know what."

He looks up at me, and his jaw tightens.

"I told you—you don't want to know."

"But I do," I begin.

"No," he cuts me off abruptly. "You think you do, but when you find out, you'll regret asking me. I'm not…" he struggles finding the right word. "I'm not like you, Logan. I'm not… good."

I have an inexplicable urge to hold him. He looks so wounded and tormented. I don't know what he's hiding from, but all I know is there is more to him than what's on the surface.

"I don't believe you," I say.

He looks at me and slightly narrows his eyes.

"I'm a bad person," he claims.

"I don't believe you," I reiterate. "I don't believe that you're as bad as you claim. Truly bad people do bad things without any remorse, without the slightest flinch. You, other hand, every time I bring it up, you have this look of guilt and burden…"

"You really are innocent," he scoffs, which slightly offends me.

Does he think I'm some foolish kid who can't judge a person's character?

"Don't patronize me," I defend.

"Then don't interrogate me," he counters.

It's sharp and serious. He's quite intimidating like this, so I drop it for the time being, but his refusal to give me any answers only makes me want to find out even more.

His face softens like it always does once he knows we've crossed a potentially hostile line, so he composes himself as he's so good at doing and apologizes.

"I'm sorry. Can we just play another game?"

I want to tell him that I feel like he's been playing nothing but games with my head, but I refrain from doing so. I simply nod, but am not happy that he coerced me to give up so easily.

We continue playing a few more mindless board games to pass the time. I can see why people typically play these games during rainy weather. They should be called _bored_ games instead. But as mundane as the games become, I'm still completely content with just being with him. We talk and laugh about everything and sometimes absolutely nothing. He makes it easy for me to just be me. I can't say the same when I'm with others.

When the games no longer hold anymore entertainment for us, we pack them away. By this time, both our stomachs grumble constantly, so I go whip us a quick dinner. Kendall acts as my sous chef and even puts on a fake French accent to make me laugh as we cook. It's bizarre how much he makes me smile and laugh, when I still know so little about his past.

After dinner, Kendall stretches and tells me he wants to shower.

"Unless you want to join me," he flirts, which embarrasses me.

I shake my head and tell him he can go first.

While he showers, I decide I should call Mom. She tells me she'll be back late tomorrow, which is fine by me. The longer she's gone, the easier it is to keep her from finding out about Kendall.

"Nana told me to tell you hi," she says.

"Tell Nana I said hi, too."

"I will. How has it been at home? You aren't too lonely, are you, sweetie?"

"No, I'm definitely not feeling lonely these days," I reply cryptically, which doesn't matter because knowing Mom she won't catch on.

"Well, that's good, honey. Oh, which reminds me, you should probably call Camille. She left a few very disconcerting voicemails on my phone earlier this afternoon."

I roll my eyes, because that's just like Camille—always with the melodrama.

"Okay, I will, Mom. Thanks."

"Well, alright, I'm going to have dinner with Nana. I'll see you tomorrow night then."

"Alright, Mom. I love you. Bye."

After I hang up with her, I call Camille, because she's called at least another half a dozen times since this morning. As the phone rings, I dread what will inevitably come my way.

"Logan Mitchell, you scared the shit out of me!" she yells as soon as the line connects. "I thought you were dead!

"Camille…"

"I even called your mom after you wouldn't answer my calls!"

She continues to ramble on like usual.

"Camille, listen…"

"And I was even about to call the cops and have them search for your mutilated body, because I was sure that somebody had murdered you after you didn't answer my fourteenth call!"

"Camille!" I yell through the phone.

This finally catches her attention and she pauses long enough for me to get a sentence in.

"Camille, I'm fine, alright?" I say in a lower and gentler tone once I know she's listening.

"Then why have you been avoiding all my calls?"

"I'm not. I've just been… preoccupied."

"With who?" she interrogates.

"W-what? There's no guy! I mean, no one! There's no one."

"Oh my god, I knew it! Who is it? Tell me! Tell me!" she shrieks.

"There's nothing to tell, Camille," I say.

"It isn't James Diamond, is it?"

"No!"

"Oh my god, it is! Weren't you two supposed to do the Korean War assignment together this weekend?"

"It's the Battle of Gettysburg! Does _no_ _one_ know the different battles and wars but me? And yes, we did do the assignment together today, but that was it."

"Don't lie! You totally went down on him, didn't you?"

"No, of course not! He has a girlfriend, Camille," I remind her.

"Pssh! No guy with hair and skin that nice is straight. I mean, have you _seen_ the boys in my theater group?"

"Camille, can we just drop it? I'm not with anyone." Which is true; I'm not. "I just wanted to call and let you know I haven't been avoiding you."

"Right, you've just been 'preoccupied'," she snickers.

Even though I know she can't see it, I roll my eyes.

"Alright, I'm hanging up now," I warn her.

"No, wait!"

"Bye, Camille," I say as I press the red button to end the call. Right before it ends the call, I can still hear her muffled voice chattering away.

My head turns when I hear the bathroom door open. Kendall comes out with wet and disheveled hair and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. I nearly have a heart attack on the spot. He looks absolutely heavenly…

"Who was that you were just talking to?" he questions.

"Oh, that was just my friend Camille."

"_Just_ a friend?"

"Yeah," I scoff at his unnecessary question.

"I don't think she sees you as just a friend. No friend calls that many times a day."

I barely have had any time to check my phone the past few days, yet he's aware of how many times Camille has been calling me? Has he been monitoring my phone?

"We're just friends," I say flatly, getting tired of everyone assuming things about my nonexistent love life.

"Is she in love with you, too?"

"Too?" I ask, addressing his odd choice in words.

"What?"

"You said, 'is she in love with you, _too_?'" I repeat.

"Did I? I mean, is she in love with you?" he backtracks as he clearly his throat. For the first time I see _him_ blush.

I smile proudly, because for once I put him on the spot and made him get flustered.

"I don't know. I think at one point she liked me. Maybe she still does, I don't know… But it doesn't matter."

"Why's that?"

"Because I don't feel that way for her."

"Do you feel that way for anyone?" he probes.

I think about his question for a moment, and to be candid, I'm not sure I have a clear answer for myself even.

"Yes," I simply reply.

His face almost appears to light up upon hearing my response.

"And who may that be?" he questions further.

"You already know," I say pensively.

"Tell me anyway."

"James Diamond," I say.

Something about Kendall's expression changes. He almost looks… hurt?

"Oh. James Diamond. Right."

"You seem surprised," I observe.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't be. Who doesn't like a rich pretty boy, right?" he asks rhetorically, but there's an undercutting tone in his voice.

"That's not why I like him," I defend.

"Oh, that's right, I forgot. It's because you know him so well," he says sardonically.

Now I'm the hurt one. Does he think I'm that superficial?

"I'm going to go shower," I say to prevent anyone from getting hurt any further.

"I warmed it up for you," he purrs.

"W-what?" I stammer.

"The shower. It's all nice and toasty warm."

"Oh. Right," I chuckle nervously.

I disrobe when I get into the bathroom. I'm still irritated that Kendall keeps adding his two cents about James Diamond. Who is he to tell me who I'm allowed to like?

I turn the faucet on until the water is nice and hot. I feel the tension build up in my neck and shoulders. I've been so stressed I need some form of relief. My hand moves down south until I get to my manhood. I gently rub it until a small moan escapes. I close my eyes and I think of James Diamond. I think of his flawless beauty. I picture his naked body in the shower.

I start from the bottom—with his athletic legs. I slowly scan up to his toned thighs, then up to his manhood, which makes me blush. I move up his happy trail that passes through his ripped abdominals, and all the way up his long torso up to his perfectly sculpted chest. His broad shoulders strain, exposing all the muscles that ripple as I continue to touch myself. When I get to his face, instead of James Diamond, it's Kendall that is smiling back at me.

I'm momentarily taken by surprise, but then I look into his green eyes and I instantly relax. I somehow feel safe in his gaze. I try to picture James Diamond again, but for whatever reason, I can't seem to gather enough details to piece together his face. It's almost as if I've forgotten what he fully looks like, which has never happened before. All I can envision is Kendall's face. It's in sharp clarity. I see every detail of his face as if he's truly standing in front of me.

I begin touching myself again, as I trace the contours of his face. I clutch myself even tighter and begin stroking myself more rapidly, with an animalistic urgency. I'm moaning and panting—I'm deliriously crazy for him.

I feel myself being pulled closer to my climax. I'm so close… until the bathroom door opens.

"Hey, sorry, I'm just going to comb my hair," Kendall says barging in.

I abruptly stop. I'm both mortified and irritated at his timing. After he leaves, I contemplate on resuming what I was doing, but the moment is gone and I'm too embarrassed that I fantasized about him to begin with.

I quickly towel-dry my body and get dressed. I go into my room, where Kendall is studying my bookcase as he listens to music. He definitely shares a strong love for music like me.

"What song is this?"

"It's by The Decemberists," he informs me. "It's called _Engine Driver_."

"What's it about?" I ask as I continue to towel-dry my hair.

"It's about being in love with someone, but no matter what or who you try to be, it's never good enough for them," he tells me with an almost blank gaze. "But no matter how hard you try to fall out of love with them, it's impossible."

"You speak about it like you've been in love before," I note.

He looks up at me with life returning back to his eyes.

"Maybe," he grins. "Have you?"

"No," I say looking timidly down at my feet.

"No? A pretty thing like you?" he teases.

I blush like usual.

"Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Always make comments like that. I can't tell if you're joking or being serious," I state.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No, not really. That's not the issue."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Forget it," I say, dropping the subject altogether.

I climb into bed, and my clean skin feels so good against the cool sheets.

"Who were you in love with?" I ask curiously.

"Huh?"

"You said you were in love with someone," I remind him.

Kendall stands from across the room and appears to be thinking about something.

"Not 'were'—are," he smiles somewhat nervously.

"You're in love with someone?" I ask.

I'm strangely curious, but even more significantly I'm slightly jealous. The feeling is contradicting my logic.

"Yeah, but just like the song, I don't think he feels the same way."

"Wait, 'he'?"

Suddenly, it feels as if the floor has dropped beneath me. And by the look on Kendall's face, it looks as though he realized he slipped on his words. That's twice today that he's done that. Is his cool façade beginning to falter?

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I guess you and I have a lot more in common, huh?"

"You shouldn't be ashamed for liking a guy."

"I'm not. Only problem is, I've never liked a guy before y—him."

"There's no shame in that either," I try to console him.

He still looks embarrassed for revealing so much, which is a new side to him that I haven't seen before.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've never been kissed," I confess, hoping this embarrassing piece of information of me will help him feel better about his.

"You're almost eighteen and you've never been kissed?"

"I suppose," I say under my breath.

"I'd thought you would have a line of suitors just waiting to put their lips on you."

"Thanks," I blush. "Well, when was your first kiss?"

"I was thirteen," he replies assuredly. "The girl was older."

"How old?"

"Fifteen, sixteen, I think."

"A cougar, huh?" I joke, hoping to ease the tension.

It works, because he laughs.

I don't know if it's because of the hot shower, but I'm suddenly very relaxed—not tired, just relaxed.

"Are you tired?"

"No, just very cozy right now," I say in a soft dreamy tone.

Kendall turns off the stereo and the lights, as well. He slides into bed with me, which takes me by surprise because I had forgotten I invited him to sleep in my bed last night. I did it out of kindness—and maybe a little out of sympathy—but I didn't realize he took it as a reoccurring invitation.

He acts normal about it, so I try to play nonchalance, too. In truth, it's slightly awkward for me being this close to another person. I'm usually so closed off with people, even with my own mom at times, so this is something I'm not used to.

The moon is full and luminous tonight, thanks to the clear sky. It shines partially through my window, illuminating my room with a soft and pale blue hue. We lay face-to-face, which would normally make me feel uncomfortable, but right now I feel something inside of that I can't quite describe. It's almost a stirring of emotions, and they're boiling, ready to pour out of me.

A searing desire to be touched by the enigma comes over me. I know it's crazy, but the uncanny hunger I feel for Kendall is powerful and overwhelming. He looks at me like I'm special, like I'm worthy, like I'm… loved. I need to feel loved by someone. My entire life I've had people walk out of my life, but here is someone who has come _into_ my life.

I want to kiss him, but I'm scared of being rejected. I'm also scared of how badly I want him. This isn't like me. I'm usually in much more control than I've been lately.

"Logan?" he asks in the dim blue-tinted room.

"Yeah?"

"You've never been kissed by a guy before, have you?"

The question comes out more as a statement. I blush, but humor his invasive question anyway.

"I told you, I've never been kissed by… anyone," I state, blushing a deeper red.

"I've never kissed a guy. I've always wanted to try it."

"Oh," I say breathlessly.

_Is he implying what I think he's implying?_

"Logan?" he practically breathes out.

"Yeah?" I say just as breathlessly.

"Don't move."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to kiss you…"

My breathing hitches and my heart nearly collapses upon hearing him say this. I see him moving closer to me, looking at my lips. I look at his as I feel us inching closer, although it feels as if I have barely moved. It's almost as if a magnetic force is slowly pulling us closer. I feel that odd sensation coursing through my veins again. We both feel it. We both want it. We both _need _it. The tension builds until it's consuming all of me and practically begs for contact with him. His delicious scent surrounds me, and before I realize it my eyes slowly close.

I don't see it happen; I only feel it happen when his soft lips press against mine.

I let out a soft moan, and so does he.

I move back for an infinitesimal moment, only to move back in and kiss him again. His warm lips immediately welcome mine once more. Our bodies shift closer together until I feel his body press gently against mine. I run my hand up behind his neck and pull him in even closer. Our mouths move in synchronization and slowly our mouths part unison. I feel his soft tongue brush against mine, swirling and molding with mine. Our mouths marry and dance in a sensuous way. The sensations coursing through me are electrifyingly strong. Every ounce of me feels alive, invigorated. Our kiss deepens and I'm in sheer and complete bliss. Feeling this good should be criminal.

I return back from heaven when his lips move from mine. I slowly open my eyes and see the beautiful green gems staring back at me. He plants a small tender kiss upon my lips, which is just as magical as I expected it to be.

He caresses my face with his long index finger. Goosebumps form all over my body with just one touch from him. I lay still, taking in the moment, taking in the sweet smell of him. My whole practically hums with joy and delight, as I slowly drift into dreamy slumber.

"Sweet dreams, Logan," he whispers to me in the darkened room.

And sweet dreams they are…


	8. Intoxicated

**A/N: So sorry about not having a new chapter for you guys last weekend! But at least the last chapter I was able to (finally) give you guys that much coveted kiss, right? ;)**

**Side-note though, I have to say, that you guys are so incredibly generous and sweet! Everyone has been so receptive of this story, and I honestly did not expect it. It's because of your continuous love and support for it that drives me to write, so thank you! And with the next few chapters, I think that you guys will fall in love with these two characters if you haven't already. ;)**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Lies" by Marina & The Diamonds

"Into The Fire" by Thirteen Senses

**I chose, "Lies", because I think it represents what Kendall thinks Logan feels towards him. Kendall feels that Logan could never love him that way. But I also like to think of it as a song for Logan just as much, because Logan can't seem to let himself fall completely for Kendall since there's still this big mystery about him. Until he finds the answers about Kendall's past, it's hard for Logan to accept his feelings for Kendall.**

**The second song that inspired me, was "Into The Fire" and it's almost the completely opposite of "Lies", in that it's about both of these guys giving into their feelings for each other.**

**Anyway, I'll shut up now so you can enjoy this new chapter! Please review as always!**

* * *

I wake up feeling two things: happiness and confusion. The two disjointed emotions conflict within me. For one, the kiss last night gave me pleasures that I didn't know I could access. But on the other hand, the thought that I'd kissed someone I barely know, let alone a criminal, scares me. What have I gotten myself into?

I turn over slowly, not knowing what will happen between Kendall and me now. Would things be awkward between us? I look over to his side of the bed, only to find it's empty. I pop up and scan the room. He's not here.

Immediately, I'm concerned that he's taken off. Did the kiss freak him out? If he did run off, did he take our things? After all, he doesn't have any money. How far could he have gone without the means? Now I have to add worry to my list of conflicting emotions. I run my hands through my hair and let out a long exhale. I'm scared of the unknown. Here lately, it seems like there are nothing but unknowns in my life.

I kissed a guy who I still have no clue as to what he has committed. And what does the kiss mean now? Are we romantically linked? Hardly, right? A kiss can just be a kiss. Neither one of us had kissed a guy before, so it was just experimentation.

I get out of bed and leave the room, because my thoughts inundate my brain. I hear and smell sizzling bacon. I instantly relax, knowing at least he didn't take off in the middle of the night.

_He's just making breakfast_, I think to myself.

However, I don't go into the kitchen and greet him. Instead, I hide out in the bathroom, because I still don't know what that kiss means for us. After all, he's my first kiss.

_Oh god! My first kiss could be a thief! Or a murderer! _

I lean my hands against the sides of the bathroom sink, and let out a long exhale. I look into the mirror and look at my reflection.

The images of the kiss replay in my mind. I picture his soft lips brushing tenderly against mine; his wet tongue gliding and sweeping my lower lip; the way his mouth molded itself with mine so perfectly as if our mouths we're meant to join. I touch my lower lip and look back into the mirror. I see that I'm _smiling_. How is it that I'm so captivated by him—someone who I've barely know? But more frightening is how I'm allowing myself to fall under his spell?

I brush my teeth and splash water—extra cold water—on my face, hoping to revive any sense left in me. I dry my face and bury it in the towel. Images of him stroking my face as I look into his green eyes from last night come involuntarily. I realize that things will be more difficult between us than ever.

I know I can't hide in this bathroom forever, so I muster enough courage and meet him in the kitchen. Maybe the kiss was awkward enough for him that he'll pretend as if it never happened, I think. But at the same time, the thought of him possibly being so disgusted with the kiss last night hurts my dignity. I don't want him to be repelled by me either. Was the kiss as good for him as it was for me?

"Mornin'," I greet him as casual as my tone allows.

"Hey, you," he smiles warmly.

There's an unfamiliar twinkle in his eyes this morning.

"I made us breakfast," he gestures to the plates of scrambled eggs and partially burnt toast.

Inside I'm smiling at how considerate he is, but I suppress the smile from actually emerging on my face. I don't want to give away how much he's won me over.

"You didn't have to."

"Well, I figured you made us food all of yesterday. The least I could do was to make you something."

"Thanks," I smile meekly. "I'll get the drinks," I offer as I pull two glasses from the cupboard.

I gently shake the carton of orange juice and make a mental note to tell Mom we're almost out of juice.

As I pour the orange juice into the second glass, I feel his body press behind mine and his slender arms wrap around me. My breathing ceases completely. He pulls my body against his. He grazes the tip of his nose along my neck and up behind my ear and I hear him let out a small moan.

"You smell so good," he hums into my neck before planting a small kiss on my skin.

I freeze in my place, because this is uncharted territory for me. I've never been this intimate and this close to anyone. He smells so good, too, though. I turn around and he smiles hoping I'll embrace him. Only I don't.

"Here you go," I say holding out his glass for him, purposefully avoiding eye contact.

"Oh, thanks…" he says with defeat clearly in his voice.

It kills me to act so callous towards another human being—it's unlike me—but I simply nod as my eyes remain fixed on the ground.

"Are we just not going to talking about it then?" he asks with a hurt undercurrent in his voice.

I was afraid of this. Why can't he just leave it alone? I'm more confused than I've been in my entire life. I need some… time.

"Let's just eat," I suggest, but the words come out colder than it sounded in my head.

He scoffs but does as I request. We eat in uncomfortable silence, but he never brings up the kiss, for which I'm thankful.

I do the dishes after we finish eating and Kendall disappears, probably to my room. I don't know if he's angry that I basically rejected him, but that wasn't my intention. In all honesty, I thought he would have regretted the kiss this morning. After all, it was both our first time kissing a guy—for me, it was my first time kissing anyone ever. What I didn't expect was for him to think that this somehow made us into lovers. I couldn't love someone who I know so little about. And I don't think someone like him—someone who's being so unrighteous and running from the law—could love someone who he's taken as hostage.

_The kiss was just a kiss_, I repeat in my head. _Nothing more_.

After I finish the dishes, I head back into my room. I hear the shower running as I walk past my bathroom. I guess he's decided to avoid me as much as possible. I stand in front of the bathroom door and I touch the tips of my fingers gently to the door. I want to tell him that it wasn't anything he did wrong. It's me. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I was thinking. I shouldn't have let it get that far.

I go into my room and lay down. I press the power button on my stereo and let the music flood my room as I stare up at the ceiling. I try and imagine what I may be doing right now if Kendall hadn't come into my life. It's hard to imagine. For one, it feels like a completely different life. And for two, he's had such a profound effect on my life—good or bad is beside the point—that I can't envision it without him.

I hear the bedroom door open and Kendall walks in with a towel wrapped around his waist. He doesn't bother making eye contact with me. He's clearly upset with me, which I guess is justified on his part, but it still irritates me a little when after all I'm still currently hostage in my own home.

He stands in from of the closet with his back turn to me. He removes his towel, and oh my… He's standing there stark naked. His tattoos and his… everything are exposed. I stare at his beautiful rear as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. I blush a deep red and turn the other way, which is pointless. He throws on a sleeveless shirt, and I can't help but study his exposed tattoos. I want to ask him what they mean, but I suspect he's not ready to talk to me just yet.

He confirms my suspicions when he walks out of the room. I'm left sitting there feeling like I have to be the one to apologize. But I refuse to. I'm tired of always apologizing for how I feel. If he honestly thought things would change between us for the better, he's wrong. The kiss does not change the reality of the situation he's forced me into. I'm still a hostage and he's still a fugitive. Did he think that a simple kiss would have altered all that—that we could somehow live happily ever after?

Until he tells me what he's done, and until I've decided how I feel about it, he's still a criminal as far as I'm concerned. I'm not going to be a mindless lovesick fool after one kiss—no matter how good it felt. Perhaps that was his plan all along; seduce the hostage and run off whenever he needs. The thought alone infuriates me.

I decide there's no use in constantly thinking about the kiss. I still have a life outside these walls, and I still have a history assignment with James Diamond that I need to finish. I get out my notes and begin working on that to help ease my restless mind. Where and what Kendall is doing, I don't know, but I simply don't care right now. I turn up the volume on my stereo a little and for the first time in a long time, I feel as though I've reclaimed some sense of normalcy back into my life.

I spend a few hours caged up in my room, but I finally finish my half of the assignment. Now the challenge is to make sure James Diamond does his. I stand up and stretch my tense limbs. My stomach grumbles and I realize I haven't eaten anything for hours.

Feeling too lazy to cook today, I grab my cellphone and order pizza. I go into the living room, where Kendall is watching what appears to Nascar on TV. And from the sounds of it, it must be, because he has the volume up so loud. For someone who's hiding from the law, he really needs to learn how to be more inconspicuous.

"Hey, I ordered us pizza," I say basically to the back of his head.

He doesn't flinch. He remains unmoved and doesn't respond. I scoff at his immature behavior.

"Did you hear me? I said I ordered pizza."

Still no response. Infuriated; I go over, grab the remote, and turn off the TV.

"Hey! I was watching that!" he protests.

"Well, I was talking to you and you just ignored me. I get that you're mad for what I said this morning, but you're acting really childish right now."

He suppresses a smile, which irks me even more.

"What's so damn funny?" I ask irately.

"I wasn't trying to ignore you. I just didn't hear you over the TV. I'm sorry," he apologizes.

"Oh," I blush. "Well, either way I ordered us pizza."

"Thank you," he smiles gratefully.

I nod, feeling stupid. Not much later the delivery guy rings the doorbell and I answer the door. I pay him and tip him for the pizza. I scan the neighborhood and see a police cruiser at the end of the street, so I quickly shut the door.

We eat most of the pizza in silence, but we're unable to finish the whole thing. I save the rest for Mom for when she gets back later tonight.

Kendall gets up and looks for something to drink after we drink the last bit of milk. He opens the fridge and shuffles things around. He finds and chugs the little that's left of the carton of orange juice. He peers into it—looking annoyed and disappointed—when he realizes it's empty.

"We're out of juice," he announces.

I'm more alert to the fact that he said 'we'. Subconsciously, he must feel a part of this household now.

"I know."

He looks at the kitchen faucet and sighs.

"I guess it's just tap water for us," he groans.

I grimace, because I hate the taste of tap water. It tastes too metallic for my liking. He catches me making a disdain face.

"Well, we don't have anything else to drink," he says rummaging through the fridge. "Oh wait, there's this."

He pulls out a bottle of red wine from the fridge. It's leftover wine from this past Thanksgiving. For whatever reason, Mom thought it would be a good splurge, but given that no one but Nana comes over the holidays—and neither Nana nor I drink—it made no sense to me why she decided it was a good purchase. Mom also rarely drinks, so it's been sitting in our fridge untouched.

"Do you mind?" he asks, but it's rhetorical, because he uncorks the bottle before I can even reply.

A loud pop from the bottle vibrates through the kitchen.

"I don't condone underage drinking," I state disapprovingly.

"How do you know I'm underage?" he challenges. "I mean, after all, I could have lied to you about my age, right? You think I've lied about everything else."

He mumbles the last part. It stings. He's on the offensive with me—even if it's only to counteract my defensiveness, it still wounds me.

"Care for some?" he offers, holding out the bottle.

I don't want him to think I'm one of those teens that give into peer pressure, but the fact of the matter is, the past few days have been the strangest of my life. I could use some to calm my nerves. I look at the bottle momentarily, then I take it from him. I take a big swig directly from the bottle. The tart bitterness instantly offends my taste buds. I grimace, stick out my tongue and vigorously shake my head hoping to dispel the unpleasant taste from my mouth. I hear him slightly chuckle.

I hand him the bottle and he takes a big swig from it, too. He reacts less displeased than I did, but he clearly isn't a fan of the wine either. But regardless, he tips the bottle and takes another drink; some of drips down the side of his mouth and down the beautiful line of neck. I involuntarily bite my lower lip upon seeing this.

He wipes the dripped wine on his chin with his hand. He passes the bottle back to me and I take another swig. I grimace from the aftertaste, but it's a little more tolerable this time. Maybe it's because this time I was prepared for it. Kendall looks at me. I can't decipher what he's thinking, but he stares at me longer than it's probably appropriate to stare at someone. From anyone else, I would find this creepy, rude, or menacing—or all three—but from him, I'm completely mesmerized. I want more than anything to know what he's thinking. I want to understand that complex—and conflicted—mind of his.

He sits on top of the kitchen countertop as I lean against it, and we continue passing the bottle back and forth until there's hardly any left. By now, the taste doesn't offend me. In fact, I can barely taste anything. It just tastes like water. I guess the alcohol has dulled my senses.

"Here," he says to me, handing me the bottle when there's only one sip left.

His eyes look droopy, which I can only assume is because of the alcohol. I take the bottle without hesitation. I throw it back, but in my half-drunken state I spill most of the final sip. The wine runs down my hand and face, but it takes me another few seconds to realize this. Kendall reacts faster than me, hops off the counter, and grabs me a kitchen towel.

He starts laughing as I finally process the mess I've made.

"Oops," I say negligently.

"I got it," he says, wiping my face for me with the kitchen towel.

"Thanks, you're so sweet when you want to be," I slur.

This only makes him laugh more. I laugh, but I'm not quite sure why. His laugh is just contagious, I guess. Either that or I'm just stupidly drunk. Yeah, it's probably that.

His green eyes penetrate me and I do nothing but ogle him as he cleans the wine off of me.

"You made a mess," he smirks.

"Yeah, I'm a bad boy," I giggle.

"You got some wine on your hand," he slurs.

I see that indeed I still have some on my hands, but instead of wiping them with the towel, he brings my hand up and begins sucking the excess wine from my fingers!

The unexpected act is almost enough to somber me up. He glides his tongue along the contours of my fingers and sucks them tenderly. It's so sensuous and so insanely hot. The feeling of his warm and wet mouth is exquisite. I nearly pass out from the sensory overload. I let out sharp moans of pleasure. But then, I regain enough some sense and retract my hand.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't do that," I moan breathlessly.

"Don't do what?"

"I know you're just trying to seduce me."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"You're only doing it because you need a place to stay."

He narrows his eyes at me, clearly insulted by my bold statement. His dreamy eyes turn into an angry stare.

"You know what? Fuck this! Fuck this bullshit! I like you, alright?" he exclaims. "And I know you like me. You can deny it to yourself all you want, but you don't fool me for one second, Logan… I knew you like me the moment your lips touched mine. I _felt_ it."

"I-it was a mistake," I mutter.

"Bull-fucking-shit!" he raises his voice. "I know you feel it, too. That pulsating feeling that tells you you're alive. I know that you like me. Look me in my eyes and try to tell me I'm wrong," he commands.

I slowly look up to meet his gaze.

"I-I…"

But before I can even form a full sentence, he kisses me hard. It's angry—he's pissed at me—but it's also undeniably passionate. He wants me, and it's no use in denying that I want him, too. He's absolutely right. I felt it. I _feel_ it. I want him more with each passing moment. That kiss last night was the closest thing to nirvana I've experienced, and now I'm experiencing it once again—the sensation that awakened something dormant inside of me.

I feel his tongue slip into my mouth, but I don't deny him access. I welcome him. I welcome all of him. I taste the bittersweet red wine on his lips. _How appropriate_, I think. Kissing him is bittersweet. Everything about him is bittersweet. Our mouths beg for each other. There's an impatience and urgency behind our kiss. Nothing hurts and everything inside me feels alive—_I_ feel alive. The recesses of my mind scream at me telling me how foolish I'm acting, but my heart and body hums so vividly and beautifully that, for once, I betray my logic.

My hands wrap behind his head and his hands cup my face; we pull each other in for an even deeper kiss as our tongues dance and wrestle. Our kiss is just as good the second time around. It's unclear to me whether I'm intoxicated from the wine or him…

Slowly my hands move down his neck and rest on his chest. I feel his hands trail down and wrap around my waist. He quickly jerks me against his body. It's forceful, but deliriously hot. He wants me badly—it's clear. And I want _him_. Oh, how I want him…

He pulls back and my lips instantly miss his upon mine. He looks at me through half-hooded lids. He looks seductive, euphoric, and so incredibly handsome. Every ounce of my being is drawn to him. When I'm with him, logic is obsolete. I function solely on my primal sensations.

I look back at him. My hazy vision tries to refocus. Again, I'm not sure if my blurred vision is from the wine or from being high off of Kendall's touch. We look into each other's eyes. The desire to know what he is thinking is exponentially strong once more.

Suddenly, bright headlights shine through the window blinds. Both of our immediate reaction is to move away from the headlights. We quickly duck behind the kitchen counter so the headlights aren't shining at us. I can only guess that Kendall's first thought is that it could be the cops. I think this too, until I realize it's our car.

"It's my mom," I say quietly with a faint sound of disappointment in my tone, which I didn't intend.

Kendall smiles, but his smile has a shade of disappointment, too. I guess he also badly wants to finish the kiss.

"I guess my weekend of freedom is over. Back to hiding in the closet I go," he makes light of the situation.

However, I don't laugh. I feel sympathy for him, even though I tell myself I shouldn't be so compassionate for someone I know so little about.

Kendall retreats back into the room; and just in time too, because mom comes through the front door shortly after. I realize the empty bottle of red wine is still next to me on the counter. I quickly hide it underneath the sink.

"Hey, sweetie!" Mom greets enthusiastically.

"Hi, Mom," I say as I walk over and give her a big hug.

I pray she can't smell the alcohol on me.

"I got back a few hours earlier than I thought I would," Mom says with thrill. "There were hardly any cars on the road."

She makes no mention of the smell of alcohol, so I relax a little.

"That's good," I smile weakly.

I feel a tinge of guilt for not wanting my mom to be home so soon. But, there's so much more that I want to know about Kendall. I feel like this weekend I was starting to learning more about him. We were just barely scratching the surface.

"There's pizza if you're hungry," I tell her.

"Oh, no thanks. I ate a huge dinner with Nana before I drove back. I'm wiped, actually," she says as she plops herself down onto the couch and sighs.

I sit beside her, but keep some distance just in case she happens to smell the wine on my breath.

"How's Nana?" I ask with sincere interest.

"She's great. You know, Nana… she's as strong as an ox. She'll probably outlive both me and you," Mom jokes. "She actually told me to give you this."

Mom takes out a quilt from her duffle that Nana had made for me.

"I'm sure you hate getting all these quilts from Nana, but she means well," Mom smiles looking exhausted.

"No, I love it."

And I do. I think of the last quilt she gave me—the one that Kendall has been using. I instinctively stare towards the bedroom.

"So how was your weekend?" she asks.

"It was… boring," I lie.

It's easier to just downplay my weekend. It'll cause less suspicion.

"Aw, you should have come with me this weekend. Nana and I could have taken you to the mall to get you a tux for prom."

I thought after discussing the upcoming prom a few months back, she would have let the subject go.

"Mom, I already told you I probably won't even end up going," I declare.

"Why not, sweetie?"

"We've already been through this."

"It's a rite of passage. It's also your senior year! You have to go!"

"I'm just not… interested."

"Well, if it's because you don't have a date, then may I remind you that Camille's year would be made if you asked her," she says giving me a nudge.

"Maybe. I don't know. We'll see. Can we talk about this some other time? I still have to get ready for school tomorrow."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You don't want Mom cramping your style," she says in mock surrender. "Besides, I'm tired, too. I think I'll take a nice long shower and go to bed, as well. Good night, honey."

"Night, Mom."

She kisses me on the cheek and disappears into her room. Shortly after, I turn off all the lights and head back into my room.

When I return, Kendall is already on my bed.

"Shouldn't you be hiding in the closet?" I tease.

"I heard your Mom turn on her shower, so I knew the coast was clear," he grins confidently. "So when are you going to introduce me to your mom?" he jokes, bouncing his eyebrows up and down.

"I think my poor mom would have a heart attack."

"Yeah, I guess there's no easy way to introduce your mom to a criminal," he quips.

"That's not what I meant. I meant she'd be expecting someone along the lines of Camille…"

"She didn't know about your crush with Pretty Boy?"

By his slightly jealous tone, I can only assume he's referring to James Diamond.

I shake my head.

"You never told her about liking him?"

"I've never told her about liking anyone," I confess.

"Why not? You two seem close enough."

I let out a soft sigh, because he doesn't know my mom like I know her. Even though she's my mother, I have to keep up my guard with her at times.

Strangely, Kendall, on the other hand, almost forces me to drop my guard without trying. We're an odd pair, because we are so different on the surface, but at our core, we're essentially the same—neither one of us connects entirely with the outside world.

"As much as I know my mom will support me on pretty much anything, it's hard for me to connect with her at times," I scoff as I roll my eyes. "She loves me; I know this. But sometimes I feel as though she hears me, but she's not _listening_ to me. She doesn't understand me the way I need her to."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but I think it was a result of my dad leaving us. Right after my dad left us, she became depressed for a long time. That's when Nana moved in with us temporarily. She took care of us and she kept Mom from completely falling apart."

"That must've have been tough for you—to see your mom so low," he theorizes.

"I suppose. I was very young. It was hard to understand why my dad walked out on us, but then, in many ways, to have a disconnected mom too made it all the more difficult. Don't get me wrong, she does her best. But she missed out on so much of me growing up that she still sees me as this little boy. She would have a heart attack if she found out I kissed you."

"Twice," Kendall reminds me, clearly enjoying the fact that he got to lock lips with me again.

I blush but smile. He smiles too and appears somewhat proud.

"Was it nice?" he asks.

I can only assume he means the kiss.

"Yeah, it was. Really nice, actually," I blush. "And… for you?" I ask self-consciously.

"It was very nice for me," he smiles from ear to ear.

This boosts my ego and I can feel my heart flutter.

"You're not just saying that, are you?"

He sighs and rolls his eyes.

"You really need to start trusting me," he grins. "Come here," he says patting his hand on the bed. "I'll show you just how grateful I am."

My heart and breathing halt. His tone is seductive and charismatic. It's nearly impossible for anyone to resist.

I smile, turn off the lights, and walk over to him. I climb into bed with him and instantly our mouths find one another. Our lips marry and fuse in an organic way—it's like we were created for kissing. We spend the rest of the night kissing each other, and unlike the first time, this time I have absolutely no regrets.


	9. Lovesick

**A/N: I almost wasn't able to post this chapter, but I was able to finish in time!**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Ready To Start" by Arcade Fire

"Try" by Nelly Furtado

**For the opening of the chapter, I picked "Ready To Start" by Arcade Fire because I like the intro's heavy bass; it seems to suit Logan's morning experience. It also has a dream-like quality, like when you're half-awake and still half-asleep, which I think soundtracks the opening sequence. Plus it's a cool bittersweet love song.**

**I chose "Try" because I think it's a really beautiful and poetic song about relationships of all kinds. With any relationship, it's about putting in hard work (similar to what Kendall's character said in a previous chapter!). And Logan and Kendall are in the early stage of a budding relationship whether they want to acknowledge that or not. I also thought the song soundtracks the end of the chapter very nicely.**

**Without further ado, I give you chapter 9, "Lovesick". Please read and review as always! Also, any thoughts on what kind of crime Kendall committed? Love to hear all your theories!**

* * *

There's a window of time from the moment when you're experiencing deep sleep—the kind that puts you in a complete abyss of nothingness—to the moment when you wake up and that nothingness turns into every sense awakening simultaneously.

My alarm clock goes off and suddenly it feels as if life rushes back into every cell of me. The incessant and irritating sound of the alarm feels like it's blaring—blasting again my eardrums. My head throbs in synchronization with the alarm. I groan and roll to my side, covering my pillow tightly over my head and ears. It's of no use, my head continues to throb, causing a twitch near my temple.

I sit up, admitting defeat, and attempt to open my eyes. I'm only able to get one eye open. I see Kendall still asleep, snoring louder than he probably should. He truly is terrible at keeping a low profile. I'm surprised he wasn't caught before. I crawl pathetically out of bed; every muscle in my body feels depleted of energy. I slide out of bed—rather ungracefully, I imagine. I try to stand but immediately collapse. It's like my legs aren't cooperating. And my head… Oh my god, it's _pounding_! I severely regret drinking that wine now. And now it's Monday. I have to be somewhat functional for an entire day of school. _Great_.

Slowly, I regain some balance, but the dull pain in my head continues. I careful slide on some jeans, and throw a baseball tee over my head. I'm not sure if they're even clean or not, but that's the least of my concern right now.

I splash cold water on my face and it helps somber me up a little—not much, but anything is appreciated at this point. I quickly brush my teeth before I doze off again. It literally felt like I was asleep for seven minutes rather than seven hours. Last thing I remember was looking into Kendall's eyes before my own eyes gave in to exhaustion. I remember how beautiful he looked to me.

I also remember his lips. I remember his tongue. I remember his kiss…

My heart rate seems to pick up so I splash more cold water to calm myself. I dry my face and duck back into my room as quietly as possible until I see that Mom has already left for the day. I'm sure she's just as tired, if not more tired, than I am. I grab my backpack before I look back at Kendall. His closed eyelids shield his distinct green eyes, but he's still just as beautiful like this. He looks so boyish, and I have to remind myself again that he's my age. I can't imagine what it's like for him, being so young and so alone. Where's his family? Do they miss him? Does he miss them? What has he done that's so terrible that has caused him to sacrifice his ties with them?

I realize my semi-drunken thoughts are only slowly me down even more. I still have to get to school. I dash out the front door and head for school. The sun is completely out this morning. It actually feels like a real spring day in April for a change.

As I race to get to school on time, I'm stopped by Camille in the hallway.

"Logan Mitchell!" she says in a scolding voice.

I continue walking, clearly trying to ignore her. It's not personal. I just don't want to tarnish my perfect attendance. That and also I'm not entirely sure I've somber up completely to have anything close to a full conversation with anyone yet. But my blatant act of evading her only seems to irritate her even more, because she runs up to me and pulls me by the arm. She leads me to the side of the hallway.

"What's up with you lately? First you ignore my calls, then you hang up on me, now you're ignoring me altogether!"

"Camille, can you please not talk so loudly today?" I say, squinting and partially covering my ears.

Her booming voice is not helping with my hangover. Obviously, she takes offense to this.

"Logan Mitchell! How dare you!" she says with a look of awe.

Then out of the blue, Jett Stetson comes up beside Camille.

"So, Camille, I was wondering if you—"

"Not now, Jett!" Camille says, holding up her hand to silence him and deliberately not making eye contact with him either.

He immediately walks away from the embarrassing rejection. I have to wonder what he could possibly want with Camille.

"Camille, first period is about to start any second," I whine as another round of pounding strikes my head.

"First period can wait. What can't wait is when we're supposed to plan for prom when you keep dodging my calls!"

Is this what she's upset about—_prom_? First Mom and now Camille? When will they realize that prom's the last of my concern right now?

"I already told you I don't plan on going to prom, Camille," I say as kindly as possible.

"You promised that if neither one of us had a prom date by the first of May that you and I would go together," she reminds me.

"Yes, but I only agreed to go as your date if you couldn't find anyone else," I clarify.

"_And_?" she challenges.

"_And_, you've been declining every guy that has asked you!" I counter. "And it's also not even May yet!"

"It's _almost_ May! And one of those 'guys' that asked me to prom was Tyler Duncan!" she says his name as if it's a dirty word.

"What's wrong with Tyler Duncan? He seems like a nice kid," I try to justify.

"He's a freshman!"

"Or what about Wayne-Wayne? I heard he has the hots for you," I suggest semi-jokingly.

"You mean the second-year senior? I think not!" she grimaces with disgust.

"Well, you can always go with Buddha Bob," I attempt in joking.

"The _janitor_?" she shrieks. "Enough, Logan Mitchell! A deal is a deal!"

"Okay, fine," I groan. "I'll take you to the stupid prom."

"_Really_?" she beams. "Oh, yay! I'll let you know what color dress I'll be wearing so we can coordinate!" she practically sings as she throws her arms around me and plants a flurry of kisses on my cheek.

"Okay, okay, Camille… can we just talk about this later?"

"Ahem! Ms. Roberts, Mr. Mitchell. Shouldn't we be in class?" Principal Griffin asks rhetorically, appearing virtually out of nowhere.

He has an intimidating way about him. His demeanor comes off as cool, calm, and precise, and his body language always seems very composed, but there always seems to be a menacing and threatening undertone to his voice. Because of this, both of us immediately scurry off to class, for which I'm glad, because I'm not sure I could've taken another second of Camille's melodrama.

I go through most of the day feeling more miserable than I have in a long time. I understand now why underage drinking is frowned upon. I wonder how Kendall is handling his hangover.

During lunch, I don't feel much better. I always thought food, especially anything with bread, helps but my nausea is still there. And to make it worse, Camille rambles on about prom. I now regret telling her 'yes'.

By the time it's last period, the anticipation of going home is more than I ever felt. I think about Kendall. I want to tell him about my ridiculous day, because I know he can make light of it. I know he'll be able to make me laugh. I look at Mr. Rocque, who looks irritated, but then again it could just be his face. He always looks upset about something.

I half-listen to the pair that's giving their presentation on the Battle of Antietam. The nausea in me has not subsided. If anything, my lunch only made it worse. I have to keep it together, because James Diamond and I are up next to present. I can only hope he finished his part of the assignment. I look over at him, and he smiles back. He flashes his megawatt smile, but I'm too tired and too sick to swoon for him today. I just need to make it through the next ten minutes.

I hear the rest of the class clap, signaling me I'm up now. I take out my notecards, and James Diamond and I head up to the front of the class. Mr. Rocque arches a brow and gives me a tentative look. He knows how badly I suck at presentations. _Everyone_ knows how badly I suck at presentations. I turn around to face my peers, and I see all their eyes staring back at me. Oh, shit.

I swallow hard, and feel sweat beads start to form on my forehead. I look over at James Diamond, who's grinning from ear to ear like a fool. Unlike me, he clearly thrives on attention and has no qualms about being in front of a crowd. I look back at the impatient eyes staring me down. I try the trick of picturing everyone in the audience naked, but it doesn't work. I look over at James Diamond again and I accidentally envision him naked! Shit! That's not what I was trying to do! Now I have to present my assignment with stage fright and hot naked jock beside me.

I clear my throat, because I have a feeling James Diamond is relying on me to do most of the talking. I also get the feeling he still hasn't exactly figured out which Civil War battle we are covering. I look up at the florescent lights and they seem to be shining too brightly. My mouth feels dry, and soon I feel bile rising in my throat. I begin to speak, but nothing comes out. I try again, but the bile rises and instead of words coming out, it's vomit that spews out.

Fuck!

I hear groans, shrieks, followed by laughter. From the corner of my eye, I can see James Diamond jumping back. God forbid I get his designer kicks dirty.

I bolt for the restroom. I rinse my mouth thoroughly with cold water and splash some on my face, too. I'm absolutely mortified, but oddly I feel better now that most of it is out of my system. I dig for some gum in my pocket and chew a piece. And thankfully, the bell rings, ending my day of hell.

I run home, still feeling complete and utter humiliation for throwing up in front of my classmates. I can only imagine how long it'll take for the word to spread that I barfed during my presentation. But as much as I should care what people think, I don't. I'm too excited for the day to be over… and, strangely enough, I'm even more excited to see Kendall.

When I arrive home and see Kendall sitting in the living room. He turns around and smiles at me. It's enough to melt me to a puddle.

"Hungover?" he teases.

"You have no idea," I simply say, as I walk over to the living room.

"Oh, try me," he groans.

"You don't feel so great either, huh?"

"Well, better now. How was school?"

"Well, after what happened last period, I may have to grow a mustache, move to Mexico, and change my name. Either that or die of mortification," I state bluntly.

"What happened?"

"Let's just say I won't be drinking any alcohol any time soon."

"Sorry about that. I shouldn't have made you," he apologizes.

"It wasn't your fault. I decided to do it. I was just as irresponsible," I say.

I don't want him to think that I can't hold myself accountable for my poor decisions.

"Maybe you were just lovesick," he winks.

I give him a nervous laugh because I don't know how else to respond.

"Anyway, how was your day?" I ask back.

"Quiet," he sighs. "Better now that you're here."

I blush at the flattery.

"I missed you," he adds.

The words don't feel real. They're foreign to me. Other than Nana, no one really tells me they miss me. And this beautiful stranger who barely knows anything about me missed my presence. My heart practically sings. The truth is I missed him, too. Every moment I'm away from him, all I think about is _him_. I think about him probably even more so than I ever did with James Diamond.

"I missed you, too," I announce.

He smiles at me.

Somehow the words slipped out. I don't want to make my growing affection for him so obvious, but it seems like both of our affection for each other can no longer be hidden from the other. It's not love. At least, I don't think so. I have nothing to compare it to since I've never been in love. I don't know what it is. All I know is I find being with him different than being with anyone else—in a good way.

"Come here," he says, smoothing his hand on the empty spot on the couch beside him.

It sends electric pulses running through my body. I comply and sit down next to him. He wraps an arm around me, inviting me to move closer to him. I shift myself and rest my head against his shoulder. I'm not sure if he's okay with this, but I have a feeling he doesn't mind. I nuzzle up against him. There's a much needed comfort in knowing I'm in his embrace. The logical part of me warns me that he's still very much a stranger—after all, what do I really _know_ about him? But the rest of me find solace in his touch. Even though he's a fugitive for a potentially criminal act, I feel oddly protected and safe with him.

I feel his head gently rest upon mind, and his fingers gently play with my hair. I close my eyes and enjoy the stillness, the tenderness, the intimacy.

"I don't think we have what people would call a conventional captor/hostage relationship," I say quietly.

He laughs lightly, clearly acknowledging the weird relationship we've created.

"Should I tie you up then?" he jokes suggestively.

I blush, but smile. He bites his lower lip and looks at me. It's penetrating. It's commanding. I can't remove my eyes from his gaze. Our mouths inch closer until our lips touch. It's soft and tender. Our mouths part and the kiss becomes deeper and more sensuous. His delicious scent permeates around me. I could drink him in if that was possible.

I slowly pull back, because I need to look at him. His lower lips hang seductively. His eyes look dreamy. He looks so insanely hot. I would let him have his way with me if my good judgment wasn't intact.

"What's happening with us?" I ask curiously, because I genuinely don't know.

"I'm not sure, but it's nice," he grins.

He almost looks shy for a change, but only for a fraction of a moment, because he composes his face and looks like his normal self again.

"Maybe you have Stockholm syndrome," Kendall teases.

"What?"

"You know, when the hostage falls in love with their captor," he attempts explaining.

"Yeah, I know what Stockholm syndrome is. I just find it amusing that you think I'm in love with you," I counter playfully.

"Well, aren't you…?" he cocks his head to the side and smiles artfully.

I'm render speechless again, because he's so beautiful, so I just conveniently roll my eyes.

"You may have to tell that Camille girl you're taken though," he quips, but the joke flies over my head.

"What do you mean?"

"Your mom left a voicemail. Something about her being happy that you finally asked Camille to prom? She sounded excited," he informs me.

I'm slightly annoyed. Clearly, Camille called my mom and told her the news. It's not as if we're engaged to be married. I don't get the big deal, but she really isn't going to let me off the hook with this whole prom thing.

"I can't believe she told my mom already," I vent.

"Well, are you going?"

"I guess I am now," I sigh. "I promised her I would. Now she's probably going to make me regret agreeing to take her. I can only imagine what she comes up with for us, especially with how theatrical the theme is this year."

"Theme?" Kendall arches a brow.

"Every year we have some stupid theme for prom. Last year it was Monte Carlo. The year before that it was Old Hollywood. And the year before that it was Disco," I explain.

"What's the theme this year?"

"This year it's a masquerade ball," I say.

I catch him rolling his eyes, clearly thinking how silly our school is.

"You think it's stupid, too, don't you?" I state.

"I just don't understand school functions, especially these kinds of ridiculous formals. They're just idiotic ceremonies to celebrate nothing," he scoffs.

As much as I'm opposed to going to prom, for whatever reason, I feel the need to defend the idea of it.

"Well, it's a night of memories. It's a night to be with your friends before life changes. For some, it's a night to be with that someone special."

I notice my change in tone when I said the last part. I wonder if Kendall noticed it, too.

"It's just an excuse for teens to get laid that night," he says sardonically.

"Not everyone is like that," I defend.

"Yeah, but people get all worked up and treat it like some grand event."

"Well, maybe it is for them. Who are you to take that away from them?"

"I'm not denying anyone of it. If they want to waste their night for some lame dance, then that's their prerogative."

"I think you're being cynical," I say under my breath.

"How? Prom is bullshit. People try to convince you it's a rite of passage, but it's just a bunch of people in ridiculous looking outfits with fucking bows and ribbons and flowers everywhere, girls running around concerned with their hair and manicure, guys spending tons of money in hopes of nailing their prom dates, bored limo drivers that have to put up with pretentious and spoiled kids, shitty music and even shittier food," he rants.

The more I sit there and defend the idea of prom, the more I realize I actually do want to go to prom. It may be some overhyped tradition to Kendall, but maybe that's just it. Maybe it's because I just want to have what everyone else has—why shouldn't I? Why should I miss out on what everyone else is entitled to? I, too, want a magical night with someone special.

Maybe this whole time, the reason why I haven't bothered asking anyone is because there was no one I've felt strongly about. Without trying, I imagine Kendall and me slow dancing at my prom. But I know it could never happen for us; he's a fugitive. And besides, he's made it abundantly clear how much he despises prom.

"Why do you do that? Why do you act as if you hate the world so much?"

He looks at me straight in the eyes.

"Let's just say I've had a complicated life," he smiles without humor.

"You never talk about it though," I find the courage to say.

He flinches when I say this, but composes his face again like he's so good at doing now.

"There's really not much to talk about," he tries evading.

"I doubt that's true. There's so much I still don't know about you. You don't share anything about yourself. How do you expect me to agree with you when you don't give me any answers," I challenge.

"I don't have to. You of all people should know what it's like. People like us—people like you and me—don't fit in with the rest of society. It's because we don't conform to what society wants us to be. We're outcasts, but we're more real than they'll ever be. They hate us because we don't play along to their games, we don't play by their rules. People like you and I… we write our own rules."

His words are so potent, so full of strength, conviction, and charisma—I'm sure they could band nations together or tear them apart if he wanted. He's so brilliant in his own way. He may not be book smart, but he's smarter than me in ways I could never be. He has endured a hard life; there's no doubt in my mind. Because of this, he sees the world through jaded lenses. He's not your average teen, that's for sure.

I want to hold him and tell him that he doesn't have to be mad at the world, that he doesn't have to run and hide from the world—that he can find happiness out there like anyone else—but I know that his situation doesn't allow it. He's deprived of a normal teenage life, one in which I've taken for granted. He can't enjoy simple pleasures of just being young and free anymore. I sit at home and exclude myself from the world but only by choice, but he has no choice.

I think of what kind of student Kendall might have been where ever he came from. I wonder how many of his classmates were infatuated with him. I mean, he's definitely got that brooding, mysterious bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold thing down. Who could possibly resist him? I wonder how many hearts he broke. Suddenly, I'm scared of falling for him.

How can I fall in love with a criminal? How could this end for us? Even if I want him to, he can't stay here forever. One day, he'll either be caught in our home or he'll have to find a new place to stay. The thought of coming home to an empty house again saddens me.

"Hold me," I ask of him.

He looks baffled by my request. He expects me to argue back like I usually do, but I don't. It's not worth it. I'd just waste the little time I have left of his company. So I sit there as he holds me. And I don't think of the past or what's to come. All I think of is the moment I'm in—the one in which Kendall is holding me close, shielding me from the very world that threatens to tear us apart.


	10. Intimacy

**A/N: I hope all of you like this story so far! It's definitely longer than I ever imagined it could be, but I'm having so much fun developing the story and coming up with subplots that's it's becoming harder to stop writing! With each chapter we're getting closer to finding out more about these characters, so I'm glad that all of you are just as invested in them as I am! Thank you!**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Island In The Sun" by Weezer

"Still Into You" by Paramore

**I really like "Island In The Sun" for the opening scene, because it's one of those songs that seem very upbeat and lighthearted, but I always suspected it has a darkness about it. It's like one of those smiles that hide sadness; there's something very beautifully haunting about the song when you look at it like that. It also happens to be one of my favorite Weezer songs.**

**And I chose "Still Into You" for the mall scene for the second half of the chapter. It has a fun energy to it, which suits the tone during that montage. Also the lyrics could very well be applicable to the characters.**

**Please review and share your thoughts! I'll even give you an exclusive snippet of next chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

I feel the sun. It's bright and radiant. It warms my face and entire body, with a gentle breeze briefly cutting through the warm summer air. The seemingly endless pool sparkles and glistens brilliantly, as if small diamonds were embedded into the water's surface. It's dazzling… but not more dazzling than the beautiful blonde climbing out of the pool. I gasp upon seeing his beauty. His long torso stretches and flexes. He shakes the excess water from his gorgeous dirty blonde locks. He's a vision of perfection. He smiles at me, flashing pearly white teeth and those distinctive dimples. I feel my heart race as he moves closer to me—but he's moving too slowly. I want to reach out and touch him. He finally approaches and sits in front of me, blocking most of the vibrant sun with his body. I can only see the outline of his silhouette. He leans in, presses his lips against mine, but suddenly the light is gone…

I awake to a darkened room, but the sensation on my lips from the dream is still there. His lips are still upon mine. As my eyes fully open, I see Kendall leaning back, examining my face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," he apologizes.

"It's okay," I give him a sleepy smile.

Wow is it that he looks as beautiful as he did in my dream.

"Were you dreaming?"

I nod.

"Was I in your dream?"

I nod again, this time with a blush. He smiles upon hearing this and strokes his finger softly against my cheek. My now focused eyes gather enough detail that I now realize I'm in my room—and that it's late; how late I'm not sure.

"How did I get in here?" I ask.

"I carried you in," he informs me.

I try to picture me sleeping in Kendall's arms as he generously takes me to my room. It's definitely a beautiful image, but one that I'm not entirely ready to be comfortable with.

"You fell asleep on the couch," he says.

"In your arms," I add embarrassedly.

"I didn't mind," he reassures, giving me a tender smile.

It's just a smile, but his smile is enough to make angels weep.

"I guess that wine really took its toll on me, huh?" I chuckle lightly.

"I figured I should let you sleep it off," he says as his fingers move down and lightly rake my neck.

"Is Mom…?" I begin.

"Yeah, she's home," he tells me.

"Did she see you?" I panic, feeling incredibly guilty and careless for falling asleep.

He hushes me and looks at the door for a brief moment before returning his attention to me.

"No, she didn't. I carried you in here and stayed hidden in the closet until I heard her go to bed. She came in and checked on you earlier," he says quietly.

"She did?"

Mom never comes into my room. She must have found it strange that I went to bed so early.

"She loves you, you know," he says.

"I know," I nod.

I wonder why he continually feels the need to remind me this all the time. Does he think I doubt that my mom loves me? Does he think I don't love her? It's strange that he's concerned about my relationship with my mother, especially given that he's never formally met her.

"I know you said your relationship with her isn't perfect, but don't take her for granted," he advises, sounding more sagacious and wiser than I've ever heard him.

I can't help but read between the lines; is he speaking from personal experience?

"What's your mother like?" I ask courageous.

He flinches, but looks at me as he decides what to say.

"She's lovely. She's everything you could want in a mom. She's attentive, she's caring, she's selfless… she's kindhearted. You remind me a lot of her," he laughs nervously. "Is that weird to say?"

"A little," I confess with a teasing smile. "But thank you."

He gets quiet, like he's lost in thought. It's another one of the many moments I desperately wish I could read his mind. He's unafraid of so much, yet he seems most scared to open up about his past to me. I guess we're similar in that aspect. I've kept a lot of my life from him, so it's unfair for me to expect him to be an open book, especially when he clearly has a dark past. I realize that if I want to earn his trust, I have to show him that he's earned mine.

"Do you want to know about my dad?" I ask.

I already know his answer to my question, because I see the burning curiosity in his eyes.

"Only if you want to talk about him," he replies.

"I was eight when he left," I state. "I didn't really know the severity of it at the time, I suppose. But I guess I was old enough to know that things would be different for us."

"I'm sorry," he says.

And he means it. He means it more than anyone else who has said those words to me. Other people just give me pitiful looks. But Kendall doesn't. He sees me. He sees my pain, even when I can't seem to see it after all these years of burying it.

"It's okay. In all honesty, I don't remember my time with him anyway."

"What do you remember about him, then?"

"I remember him being busy—a _lot_. And even when he wasn't working, he was rarely around. He wasn't necessarily a negligent father, because we still have pictures of him with me during birthdays and award ceremonies at school. And he wasn't a bad husband either. He never mistreated Mom."

Kendall listens to me in silence with an intense curiosity and urge to know.

"Do you remember what he looks like?" Kendall finally asks.

"Yeah, somewhat—mostly from pictures, to be honest."

He wears a solemn look on his face and his eyes become distant.

"Sometimes I'm sure you wish you could forget his face, don't you?" he asks with an almost ghostly stare, as if he's staring right through me.

"I suppose…" I reply doubtfully. "I guess there's no use though, since I look like him. Well, that's what everyone else tells me at least. I don't quite see it. Maybe it's because I don't want to see it."

"You don't want to be reminded or associated with him," Kendall observes.

It's not a question. He says it like he understands. I wonder if he shares a similar feeling about his dad as I do mine.

"Right. But, it's hard to avoid the association, because from time to time Mom tells me how much I look like him."

"He must have been a handsome devil," Kendall comments, obviously complimenting me.

I blush with modesty, but smile at the flattery. I'm also glad that life has returned back into his eyes. He doesn't have that ghostly look in his eyes anymore.

"I suppose I do look like him more than I like to admit. He's taller than me, though—probably about, hmm, your height. I can tell Mom misses him. She doesn't ever say it, but I can tell."

"Do you miss him?"

I don't know how to reply to his question, because no one has ever asked me that before.

"I miss the idea of knowing what it's like to be in a normal family," I reply.

"His loss, right?" Kendall says, clearly in attempt to cheer me up.

"I guess," I frown.

"Hey," he says lifting up my chin. "You're amazing, you know that right? He's a fool for walking out on you."

And then he plants a kiss on lips. His kiss catches my small gasp of breath. The taste of him on my lips makes everything else seem trite and unimportant. When he touches me, all I can think of is him…

My eyes close as I get lost in the bliss. He doesn't know the things he does to me…

"You didn't fall asleep on me again did you?" he jokes.

"No," I moan almost breathlessly.

I look into his eyes and I have to remind myself he's real.

"Kendall?" I say almost in yearning kind of whine.

His face perks up. I can tell that he likes it when I call him by his name. It probably makes him feel like he's seen as a person, not a fugitive.

"What is it?"

I don't know how to ask what it is that I want. So instead, I pull him back down until his lips fall upon mine. His mouth immediately gets to work, as does mine. The rational voice inside my mind no longer seems to chime in any longer. I'm falling for him hard—it's both terrifying and exciting.

Our tongues meet and tangle. I feel my breathing become heavier and more labored, as my body temperature rises. I can feel my desire for him growing within me. My skin feels as if an electric current has passed through, which causes all the hairs on my body to stiffen. And another part of me stiffens, as well…

Oh, no… it's becoming too overwhelming… I can feel myself getting hot. I can feel his heat radiate, too. He must want it, too. This is it… This is the when it happens. I didn't mentally prepare myself for this moment. I didn't think this would happen, and certainly not with a stranger who literally fell in from my bedroom window. But it's happening. I'm about to go to a level of intimacy that I've never experienced before…

But as soon as I'm ready to remove my clothes, he pulls away. I'm taken by surprise, because I'm not sure if he's getting into position. My nerves have never been higher than they are now. Maybe he wants to undress me, I think.

"It's late," he whispers into my ear. "You should sleep."

I look at him dumbstruck, and even scoff quietly to myself. Did I miss something? I thought we were on the same page. I thought we were going to… Take it to the next step. Instead, I'm being denied. I suddenly feel stupid for jumping to conclusions. He must not desire me the way I suspected.

"We can still kiss if you want," I offer up pathetically.

I can't believe I'm reduced myself to practically begging a stranger to kiss me. I really am debasing myself.

"We really should sleep," he sighs.

His eyes don't meet mine. What the hell? Seriously, did I miss something? Just moments ago we were getting hot and heavy. I'm humiliated for putting myself out there so foolishly, but I simply nod. He rolls to his side, with his back towards me. The embarrassment is too much… He doesn't want me. Not like that. I turn to my side, with my back facing his, feeling more insecure than I've felt in a while. We lie in silence, but I swear at one point I hear him let out a sigh. As for what he may be sighing about, I'm not sure.

I finally fall asleep, feeling rejected and humiliated.

Morning comes sooner than I'm prepared. I wake up, feeling weird about what transpired—or didn't transpire—last night. I get dressed and sling my backpack over my shoulder. Before I head out, I take another look at Kendall. I marvel at his beauty, and I realize that of course he could never fall for someone as commonplace as me. I'm ordinary. I'm plain. I'm not nearly as fascinating and as intriguing as him. My self-esteem is already off to a bad start for the day. Terrific.

I head to school feeling uneasy about everything with Kendall. I wasn't even supposed to fall for him—he's a fugitive after all. But, as ridiculous and crazy as it is, I did. I fell for him hard. But now what? Does he even desire me the same way I desire him? I thought he did, but after last night I'm just not sure. But then I recall all the times he flirted with me and made sexual innuendoes. What the hell were they for if he didn't want me? My embarrassment turns to anger. It's his fault. He led me on and now he's playing with my head and heart. I wonder if even cares about turning me down. Am I simply another pawn to him? I imagine again all the hearts he must have broken back home.

I try and forget about the whole thing. There's no point in worrying about it now, because it will just plague my mind all day at school. I head for class, but it's hard to shake my incessant thoughts of Kendall.

The first few periods are especially brutal because the word that I threw up in Mr. Rocque's class yesterday has already spread like wildfire. Some people snicker when they see me, some actually found it oddly cool, but either way I can't do anything else but wait until something embarrassing happens to someone else so I'll be off everyone's radar.

By fourth period, I feel like I've gone over all the potential reasons as to why he rejected me—simply because I have nothing better to do. I've narrowed it down to either him never having been with another guy, him being afraid of being intimate with his hostage, or that he's just not being attracted to me. I hope it's not the last one, but if it is, I want him to tell me the truth. He doesn't need to keep up a façade and continue flirting with me if there are no mutual feelings there.

By last period, I'm ready to run out the door as soon as the bell rings. I tap my pencil impatiently, annoying one of the Jennifers that is sitting next to me. I bite my lower lip, because the anticipation is killing me. I think of what I'll say to Kendall.

_Should I bring up what happened—or in this case, didn't happen—to him casually in conversation? Or should I just be forthright and blunt about it?_ I wonder to myself. Will he even give me an honest answer? Maybe he doesn't have the heart to tell me he's not attracted to me. Oh god, I feel myself flushing red from just the thought of potential humiliation.

I know! I'll kiss him. Yes, that's it. I'll kiss him and touch him and maybe he'll get the hint this time. Maybe he just wasn't picking up on the subtext of my body language last night. I'll make sure there's nothing ambiguous about my desire for him this time. That's my plan. Now I just have to follow through with it. I blush at the silly thought of _me_ trying to seduce _Kendall_. On what planet could the idea of me taking advantage of Kendall even be remotely plausible? I know I'm in over my head. I know I'll never actually be able to go through with it. Before I have time to think of an alternate plan, the bell rings humming loudly through my ear.

Immediately, I get up and bolt for the door. Before I can even exit the classroom though, Camille stands in front of me, stopping me from my swift exit.

"Hey, prom date!" she coos. "I was thinking we could stop by the mall and look at prom dresses for me!"

"Uhh, wow, Camille as… fun as that sounds, I have to get home," I blink.

"Why? Is your mom home?"

"No," I answer too stupidly and honestly.

"Then why do you have to rush home? You always say you hate being alone. Just come with me and you won't have to go home to empty house," she suggests.

I'd probably agree with her if she said this before Kendall came into my life, but now all I want to do is spend my days—and nights—with him. There's no one that lifts my mood as easily as he does.

I realize I've been standing there gazing off thinking about Kendall for who knows how long. Camille gives me a worried look. I don't have an excuse or a good enough reason to say no to her—not without her knowing about the fugitive hiding in my house, at least. I could attempt a lie, but I know how badly that will end. Anyway, Camille is too good of a lie detector, especially when it comes to me. It will be a futile attempt.

"Okay, I'll join you," I roll my eyes in defeat.

"Fabulous! This is going to be so much fun!"

"Right… fun…" I chuckle nervously as she wraps her arm around mine.

We get into the car that Camille borrowed from her dad. I'm surprised she was able to convince him to let her take it to school, given Camille's track record with her dad's car. Let's just say that her driving doesn't necessarily put me at ease.

"Are you sure you'll be able to drive this thing all the way to the mall… and back?" I ask doubtfully.

"Uhh, yeah!" she rolls her eyes in annoyance.

When we get in, I immediately buckle myself in. Camille puts the car in reverse without looking in the rearview mirror, and instantly we hear a car screech and honk at us from the behind.

"Yo, watch where the fuck you're going, Roberts!" we hear Wayne-Wayne yell from his roaring Mustang.

"Put a pipe in it, Wally!" Camille yells back.

We hear more honking as she continues holding up traffic. This only encourages her even more.

"Hey, shut up!" she yells at someone. "Oh _yeah_! I got a horn, too, asshole!" she curses and honks her horn at another driver.

At this point, I'm mortified. I've sunken in my seat and am praying that no one recognizes me.

She moves the gear shift to drive and slams on the accelerator. The car peels and screeches out of the parking lot, flying over speed bumps! My beating heart feels like it may pop out of my chest!

"Uhh, Camille? Don't you think you should slow down a bit?" I suggest through a shaky voice as I brace myself against the side of the car.

"What for? We'll never make it back in time," she scoffs as she pushes the car pass seventy, when the speed limit is only fifty.

I hold on for dear life the entire time. When we finally make it to the mall, Camille cuts a car off and steals the parking space from the driver. I mouth 'I'm sorry' to the driver when I get out. I'm just grateful that we made it in one piece.

We go to the juniors section of a department store and see all the proms dresses crammed into the racks. Camille's eyes immediately light up as she takes in all the colors, patterns, sequins, and embellishments. It's like the equivalent of a candy store for her. She runs over to the racks and touches all the dresses and begins pulling a bunch of different ones to try on. Naturally, she pulls a couple of gaudy and flashy dresses—typical of Camille.

She takes them into the fitting room as I sit on a bench, waiting for her to show me each one. I'm too bored and too tired to give too much of a vocal feedback, so I grimace at the ones that I don't like, and smile at the ones that are half-decent.

One point, she comes out wear some taffeta mess of a dress. It looks like some bad parody of a 80s prom dress. I shake my head and give her two thumbs down. Next she comes out wearing a pretty pale purple dress, but it's distracted by weird frilly sleeves. Later, she comes out in a flamenco-inspired dress, which gives us a good laugh. Even the sales associate looks over at us and can't help but snicker, too.

But even after trying on a dozen or so dresses, Camille's not completely satisfied with any of them, so she goes and grabs more to try on.

"Camille… can you just pick one already?" I whine.

"Logan Mitchell! I've been waiting for this moment for eighteen years, and I'm not going to simply settle on any dress!"

I can only imagine how diva-like she'll act when she's engaged to be married.

"Fine," I groan in defeat. "But let me call my mom."

I take my cell and walk over to a corner of the store as Camille piles on more dresses to try on. I call my mom's cell and leave her a voicemail. She rarely checks her cell, but I figured I should just cover my bases. I'm about to put my phone my back into my pocket when I decide to call the house phone.

It rings and no one answers, which I don't expect anyone to; it goes to voicemail.

"Hey, it's me," I say to the machine. "I'm at the mall with Camille. I just want to let you know that I'm okay, in case you were worried. Not assuming that you were worried, but anyway… I, uh… I thought I would let you know. I'll be home soon."

There's silence, which of course is the case when you're recording a voicemail, but a part of me wishes that I'm actually talking to someone. I always feel weird for sounding so personal in a voicemail, but before I hang up, I spontaneously add, "I miss you. Bye."

"Logan," Camille calls to me. "What are you doing over there? Tell me what you think of this dress," she says gesturing to the beautiful, fitted, aqua dress she has on.

"You look beautiful," I compliment as I shove my phone back into my pocket.

I smile because she really does look beautiful. But I smile mostly because I think of Kendall sitting at home, listening to the voicemail I left for him. I can only hope that he misses me as much as I miss him.

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**Too impatient for next chapter? Review this chapter and I'll message you an exclusive preview of next chapter!**


	11. Home

**A/U: Apologies for the lack of a new chapter last week, but as most of you already know, I really dislike rushing chapters just for the sake of putting them out. I don't want to publish a chapter until I feel it has the emotional tie I need from it, so that's why I gave myself the extra time to put something worth reading for you guys! :)**

**I also want to say that I know there has been a lot of build-up, but a lot has still remained unanswered or untouched, and a lot of you are asking when certain key moments will happen, and my reply is that they will happen organically. Just like I don't like to rush posting chapters, I also don't like rushing events in the story just for the sake of. I want to thank all of you who have been patient, but I promise you it will all be worth it!**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"We Are Young" by Keane

"Breathe Me" by Sia

"Walk The Line" by Live

**I chose "We Are Young" as the opening song, because I can imagine it playing in a department store, but I also like the theme of being young and enjoying the ups and down of youth. It's rather fitting for the three young characters—Logan, Kendall, and Camille—in this chapter. The song helps capture the ideas of first love and prom (being around the corner for them) for these characters.**

**For the scene when Logan gets home, I wanted a song that carries a certain tone and mood. I wanted something almost dreamy. He's been away at school and at the mall, and his only hope is to see the guy that he's slowly falling in love with, so I picked "Breathe Me", because it has a very dreamy and almost lullaby quality to it.**

**I've always loved Johnny Cash's "Walk The Line". I think it's definitely a beautiful classic that has so much relevance even today, but I chose Live's cover of it, because I just think it has a more modern feel that suits the story better than the original, so I chose this as my closing song. And the last few paragraphs of the chapter fit perfectly with the song.**

**I decided to title the chapter "Home" because as I wrote this chapter, I kept coming back to that word. I love the idea of "home is where the heart is," and it will make sense after you guys read this chapter. Without further ado, I give you, "Home".**

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After about another half dozen dresses, Camille finally narrows it down between the fitted aqua dress and a strapless red dress with a slit running up the side. I comment that while the red dress is very flattering on her, it may be a little _too_ sexy for our age. Camille disagrees—and probably just stubbornly to prove a point—she decides on the red dress. I shouldn't be surprised. That's how Camille has always been. She'll do the exact opposite if she thinks she's playing it too safe. I do admire that quality about her at times. I wish I could be as fearless.

As she finalizes her decision and goes to pay for her dress, I wander off to the men's department. I look at the sale signs plastered everywhere and pick up a few t-shirts. I hold up a pair of jeans and eyeball it. They should fit. I grab a few more pairs and head to a nearby register. The sales associate rings me up and I hand her what's left of my monthly allowance. I take my paltry amount of change and frown. I take my bag and head back to find Camille, who's scanning the area clearly wondering where I ran off to.

"Hey, I'm over here," I call to her.

"Oh, I was looking for you!"

"Sorry, I just saw some sales in the men's department."

"What did you buy?"

"Nothing exciting; just some t-shirts and jeans. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, whenever you are."

_I've been ready since we got here_, I want to say to her, but I refrain from doing so.

For the first time I'm glad that Camille drives like a bat out of hell—even if I did hold on for dear life the entire way back—because we fly through town and get back to my house in practically no time at all. I'm anxious to see him. I've missed him more in the few hours I've been away than I've missed anyone in a while. It's frightening how badly I'm captivated by him.

"Thanks for coming with me!" Camille beams, giving me a big hug.

"No problem. Glad you found a dress. You really did look beautiful in it," I tell her.

She has a grateful twinkle in her eye, as if she's about to cry. That's Camille. She's always ready to bring on the waterworks. Sometimes I think I'm only making it harder for her to move past her crush on me. But she's still my best friend—albeit a crazy one. I hope she sees that we'll never be more than that.

I give her a small smile and exit her car before she gets too weepy on me. I wave goodbye and she returns my wave before flying past the stop sign. I guess James Diamond isn't the only one that thinks stop signs are optional. I just sigh from relief that I'm still alive.

I head inside, but notice that mom's car isn't in the driveway. I guess she's still at the hospital. When I get inside, I can hear music emanating quietly from my room. I instinctively walk towards it like a moth to a flame. The door is left slightly open, so I slowly push my way through.

Kendall is lying on the bed. The setting sun is casting a warm evening glow over him. He looks like the most perfect thing to me right now. My breathing changes as I take in the image of his beauty. He doesn't see me standing there yet, for which I'm thankful. I want to look at him a little while longer, because I don't know when it will be the last time I'll see him. It isn't until I close the door that he turns his head and sees me there.

"Hey," he smiles.

It's his signature smile—the one that can melt the coldest of hearts. I can't help but smile back. His warmth almost commands it. And even after the confusing mixed signals I got from him last night, I'm bursting with excitement to lie next to him.

"Happy to see me?" I ask playfully.

His grin grows to a full-on smile. I realize that his teasing ways have rubbed off on me, because I'm much more playfully with him than I've ever thought I could be.

"You have no idea…" he says huskily.

I bite my lower lip and let out a soft sigh.

"Come over here," he says seductively, beckoning me with his hand and a small tilt of his head.

I drop my shopping bag to the floor and join him on the bed. He slides over, making room for me. He wraps his arms around me, and immediately I feel like I'm at home. There's an inexplicable comfort in his embrace. Nothing compares to it. Nothing.

He looks at me with an adoring gaze. I'm sure my expression matches his. The smell of his body wash wafts in the air between us. He smells divine.

"Did you get my message?" I ask feeling a little embarrassed for showcasing my affection for him so easily.

"I did," he says with a smile. "I missed you, too."

"Did you?"

"Mm-hmm," he purrs as his mouth finds my neck.

I'm immediately transported to nirvana as soon as his lips come into contact with my skin. He continues showering my neck with feather-light kisses.

"Don't start what you can't finish," I warn him playfully.

He gazes at me and gives me a crooked grin. It's enough to make me disrobe right here, right now… _Control yourself, Logan_, I caution myself.

I move in until our lips meet, and in that same instant, a fire is sparked within me. His lips brush against mine, as I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him in. I submit to my deepest desires, allowing my mouth to open. His tongue immediately finds mine. His breath is cool, while his tongue is warm and wet. The taste of him is heavenly; I never knew a person could crave the taste of another so intimately and as I crave him.

I fall onto my pillow, pulling him down with me. His body weight presses on me, but it's not painful. I recall the first time we met. We were positioned very similarly to how we are now. It's ironic that he's on top of me again, although the circumstances could not be more different. He pushes his body closer against mine. I wrap my arms around him and tilt my head, causing our kiss to deepen. His fingers brush along my neck, causing another course of electricity to shoot through my system. My body quivers and rocks gently. I feel that searing sensation again. I know he feels it, too. He can't deny it—not this time. There's no sense in fighting my desires either. It's either now or never. I want him. I want to feel all of him inside of me. The urge to connect with him is insanely palpable.

I blush because I know what I have to do if I want him. I'm no good at being seductive, but I need to convey to him how badly I want his touch. Our kissing becomes more urgent, more passionate. I decide to take advantage of the momentum we're building, so I graze my hands along his sides until I find the bottom of his shirt. I trail my hands underneath, bringing the hem up. His hands instinctively move down and push my hands back into place. I stubbornly refuse to forfeit. My hands pull him in for a deeper open mouth kiss, which seems to work. I then run my hands down his chest until I feel the first button, and I begin to undo his shirt. His mouth doesn't move from mine this time, so I take advantage of the opportunity and swiftly unbutton his shirt completely.

The center of his long defined torso is exposed from the open shirt. He looks incredibly attractive with an unbuttoned shirt, but I suspect he looks even better sans clothing. The image of him naked in my mind makes me blush, but gets me excited at the same time.

I wrap an arm around his lower waist and pull his body snuggly against mine. I begin to grind my body against his and I hear a low moan escape his mouth in between our kissing. Can it be that my seduction is actually working? I seize the chance and quickly move my hands down to his pants and start to undo those, as well. His hand quickly grabs mine, stopping me from undressing him any further.

"What are you doing?" he asks breathlessly.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I ask rhetorically. "I'm undressing you."

"I can see that," he says biting down on his lip. God, I want to bite that plump lip of his… "But, why?"

"I… want you," I blush, feeling like pathetic.

He lets out a long sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"No, Logan… I… I can't."

The rejection punches me hard in the stomach. I prop myself back up, and turn away from him so he can't see the hurt plastered on my face.

"I get it. You don't want me."

He grabs the sides of my arms and turns me so I'm facing him.

"Logan, believe me when I say… I want you," he sighs heavily.

"I'm confused then… First, you want to kiss me. And it's nice. Like, _really_ nice… but then it gets hot and heavy and… you don't want to, uh, touch me."

"I don't think you understand," he states.

"Then explain it to me so I can, because I'm at a loss right now," I scoff quietly.

"You don't know how beautiful you are to me. You're everything that I'm not… everything that I want to be."

His words are so sincere and so beautiful. It's hard not to fall for his charm. It's no wonder that I'm practically throwing myself at him like a hormonally-fueled schoolboy.

"That's very sweet and all, but that still doesn't explain why you won't touch me."

He places a hand tenderly to my face in jest to lighten the moment.

"You know that's not what I mean," I say with a light chuckle.

"I admire you, Logan. I admire that you don't follow the pack. You aren't like other people our age," he comments.

"Neither are you."

He briefly looks down when I say this. I don't know if he thinks I meant it as an insult, but I definitely did not.

"But that's just it. I don't want you to throw away all your morals because of me," he says still looking down.

"Why would you be worried about that?"

"I don't want you to regret your first time," he finally says.

It makes sense now. That's why he wouldn't let us take it any further last night. This entire time I assumed he just didn't want me, but now I realize that he's afraid I may be making a premature decision.

But he's wrong.

I've never felt this compulsion towards someone ever before. I've had crushes, but this is beyond some schoolboy crush. It's something physiological—it's magnetic. It's inexplicably strong and there are simply not enough words for me to describe how it feels. That's probably the best way to explain it actually—it's a _feeling_; an incredibly powerful and visceral one. Maybe it is just lust, but I honestly don't believe that to be true. Maybe it's love, but I have nothing else to compare it to. There's no sense in labeling it. It is what it is. It's real. It's immediate. It's undeniable.

"Why would I regret it?" I challenge now that I realize the real reason of him denying me.

"Do you really want your first time to be with someone who broke into your house and is holding you captive?"

I can't help but laugh quietly when he puts it like that.

"That's not how I see it."

"Well, that's how you should."

"You keep telling me I don't see myself clearly, so now I'm telling you the same. You constantly put yourself down, when I know there's much more to you," I challenge.

"Believe me, Logan, there's a lot about me you may not want to know," he says cryptically.

I want to ask him a dozen questions, but I know it will just be another wasted attempt because he clearly dodges anything about his past.

"Just being with you is enough for me. Isn't it enough for you?" he asks.

I nod, because it truth being with him is enough. This is how I know it's not just lust for either one of us. It's something much more ethereal and indescribable.

I lean back and lie on his chest. He kisses the top of my head and gently runs his fingers through my hair. The moment is perfect.

"What did you buy?" Kendall says when he spots the bag of clothes.

"Hm? Oh, just some clothes."

"Show me," he says.

I grab the bag and join him back on the bed. I pull out the first thing; a simple navy t-shirt and hold it up for him to see.

"Looks a little big for you, don't you think?" he observes.

"Well, that's because they're not for me. They're for you," I inform him without making eye contact.

But I feel his eyes instantly on me, so I turn and meet his gaze. He looks at me with that appreciative look again—like I've just given him the clothes off my back.

"Logan… you didn't have to."

"I know. But I wanted to."

"Why?" he asks with green childlike eyes.

"Because this is your home now."

The words just came out. But, they feel right. They're sincere. I'm not entirely sure, but Kendall's eyes appear misty. He's never looked more fragile, more honest, more human… than he does now.

"You really are some kind of amazing, Logan... you know that?"

I just blush and bite my lower lip.

"Thank you," he says before he pulls me in for an unexpected open mouth kiss.

I'm immediately sent on a high as I let my eyes close. He holds me close and continues to caress my face. I rest my head on his shoulder until I hear the front door open.

"Your mom's home," Kendall announces quietly.

"I should go say 'hi' to her," I say sounding more unenthusiastic than I probably should.

"I'll see you in a bit," he says before planting a kiss on my lips.

He's making it increasingly difficult for me to be away from him. Regardless, I exit my room making sure to close the door behind me, even though I already know Kendall has probably already snuck into his usual hiding place in the closet. _Maybe he's gotten more creative and hid under the bed this time_, I think. I picture his tall frame spread out and flattening himself just to hide under my small full-size bed. The image makes me snicker to myself.

"What's so funny there, Logie-Bear?" Mom asks from the door way.

"Oh, nothing, Mom. How was your day?"

"Ugh, long as usual," she groans as she kicks off her shoes, without even bothering to put them in the coat closet.

"Sorry, I didn't get a chance to make dinner tonight," I apologize. "I think there are still some leftovers, though."

"Oh, don't worry about it. You always cook for me. You deserve a break, too," she smiles at me. "Oh, but I got your message on the way home. How was the mall?"

"It was… okay," I say looking anything but enthusiastic.

"That bad, huh?" she detects.

Mom may not be the most observant, but one thing she does know about me is my abhorrence for the mall.

"Yeah, but Camille did pick out her prom dress," I say with relief.

"Oh, that's good! I can't wait to see the two of you all dressed up!" she beams as she rummages through the fridge for some food.

I realize I haven't eaten since I've returned from the mall, so I join her in the kitchen to find some food. Mom warms up a plate of leftovers, while I grab a box of Cheez-It from the pantry and begin munching on a handful of them.

"Were you able to find a tux, though?"

I stop from gorging on my Cheez-Its long enough to look up at her and shake my head. She gives me a solemn look and frowns.

"You do know it's next week, right, Logie?" she reminds me as if I've forgotten.

Between her and Camille constantly reminding me, how could I forget?

"Yes, I know, but it's a school night," I try to justify. "We ran out of time."

"Well, like I've said, you always have your dad's tux as a backup, too," she says as she stuffs her mouth.

"You mean the tux that he wore when you guys got married? Isn't that a little weird?" I grimace.

"No! Weird, how? I actually think it would be adorable," she states.

"I doubt I'll even fit the thing, but thanks for the offer. I'll keep it mind."

"Well, I'll leave some money at home for you if you want to go and get a tux this weekend then."

"You don't have to do that, Mom… I still have some Christmas money from Nana hidden in my sock drawer," I say, which is a lie.

I spent most of the little I had left today on clothes for Kendall.

"Save it! I _want_ to get this for you. I never get to do anything for you anymore."

"That's because I don't need you to, Mom," I chuckle quietly.

"Exactly my point. You're so… independent now. It makes me feel like I'm not doing my role as a mother," she says with a hint of remorse.

I stop mid-chew, put down my box of Cheez-It, and sit down beside her.

"Mom, you're doing fine," I assure her.

I know she needs reassurance from time to time.

"Sometimes I just wonder if I leave you alone too much, is all…" she says glumly.

"Trust me, these days… don't feel so lonely for me," I chuckle lightly with irony.

"Well, I know I work long hours and we barely spend any time together anymore. If you want, I can take a week off and we can just spend time together like before," she offers.

"No!" I practically shout, which causes her to flinch. "I mean, uh, no you don't have to do that," I say in a softer tone.

The less she's at home, the less likely she'll encounter Kendall. But the truth is my reasoning is much more selfish. I simply rather spend alone time with Kendall over my own mother. I feel a huge pang of guilt for not wanting her around as much as I do him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm totally fine, Mom. I promise."

"Okay, if you say you're fine then I'll take your word for it," she smiles unconvinced.

"Well, it's getting late. I should probably head to bed," I announce.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to hit the hay, too," she says with a conveniently-timed yawn. "You go ahead; I'll turn off all the lights."

"Alright, night, Mom," I say as I plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Night, sweetie."

I head back into the room and slip out of my jeans. I get into bed and make myself comfortable.

"You can come out now, Kendall," I whisper loud enough so I know only he can hear.

He emerges quietly from the bedroom closet. He looks at me with a sly grin, which causes me to bite my lip. Does he realize the conflicting things he does to me? He must know the effect he has on people… He's more than I could ever dream or hoped for with James Diamond—or rather, anyone really. He makes my crush for James Diamond seem like a forgotten memory, a superficially trite childhood dream. He respects my mind, my body, and my soul. What I feel for Kendall is real. It's more real than anything I've ever felt in my life. I now find it very hard to picture the end of each day without him. I can't even bear the thought of coming home and not finding him here.

He smiles at me before he lifts his shirt over his head. He prefers to sleep in as little clothing as possible, which at first made me uncomfortable, but now I'm glad he does. I get to marvel at his beauty all night. He perches over me as I lie back on the bed.

"So… where were we?" he smiles exposing his dimples.

I don't reply. I simply pull his body close and immediately kiss him. And in that instant, without any way of rationally explaining it, the both of us have finally found home.


	12. Sleepless

**A/N: Up until this point, every chapter has continued directly from where the previous one left off, but you'll see that there's a small time jump in this chapter from the last one. The reason I chose to do this is because I wanted there to a moment in the story where everything seems to be going well for our characters. They've gotten romantically close and no one has disrupted them yet. But eventually I want to get to certain dramatic points, while editing out a lot of unnecessary and repetitive parts. I don't know about you, but I don't think we need multiple chapters of Kendall and Logan doing nothing but making out. Okay… maybe we _do_, but you get my point, right? :P So I wanted to accelerate the time essentially because I want to give off the suggestion that everything seems okay, but of course it's really just the calm before the storm.**

**This chapter also has some good Kogan development and some cute pillow talk, so enjoy!**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"What's The Matter" by Milo Greene

"Evening Kitchen" by Band of Horses

"White Shadows" by Coldplay

**I really like "What's The Matter" for the opening because it has a kind of tranquility to it, but there's also an underlining tension and edge to which fits the opening scene.**

**For the pillow talk scene, I chose "Evening Kitchen" because as I wrote the conversation between Logan and Kendall, I imagined it almost as a lullaby. I think the song has a dream-like sound to it, so it matched the tone I wanted.**

**Finally, I picked "White Shadows" not only because it's one of my favorite Coldplay songs, but also because it captures what Logan and Kendall are feeling and experiencing, whether individually or collectively. It also has a deeply-rooted sadness to it—and you all know by now that I'm drawn to songs with sadness! :P**

**Please read and review! I present you, chapter 12, "Sleepless". Enjoy!**

* * *

The morning light beams through my window, illuminating the perfection that is Kendall as he holds me. I give a small stretch and look up at his glorious; he smiles back. I inhale his delicious scent, because I can never seem to get enough of it. It's maddening how much I have a physiological need for him. I turn and look out my bedroom window. The sunlight filters softly through my blinds. The morning is beautiful; even the birds cannot contain their excitement as they sing and flutter outside my bedroom window. Everything is perfect.

His lips find mine and instantly my heart races and I'm sent soaring to heaven. But it's when a loud crash through my bedroom door, that I'm pulled from my little piece of heaven and brought back down to Earth. I look up, startled, confused, and frightened. Immediately, I hear people shouting at us. It all sounds completely inaudible, because the yelling is so fast and demanding, and coming from every direction of my room. There are probably about half a dozen of them—men in uniform. No… It's the police… No! They're here for _him_! I look over with fear like a brick lying on my chest. My heart races again, but this time for a completely different reason. I see Kendall's face staring back at me with terrorized eyes as the uniformed men drag him out of bed and away from me.

"Logan!" he cries for me.

I attempt to scream, but my dry throat fails me. I flail and thrash, fighting my way over to him. The wall of men quickly hold me back and restrain me as I watch the greatest thing to come into my life being taken away from. I finally find the oxygen in my lungs and muster a loud scream that vibrates through the room.

"No!" I shriek so loudly that my eyes fly open.

"Logan, what's wrong?" I hear his familiar voice ask of me.

But the tone is all wrong. It's too calm for what just happened.

I take in my surroundings and I realize that the room isn't full of guarded men—it's just Kendall and me. And dawn hasn't even broken yet, since the sky is still pitch black. And I even hear rain tapping gently against the window.

"They… they took… I was trying to get to you…" I fumble over my words in confusion.

"Hey, hey, hey… everything's okay," he reassures me in a soothing voice.

He looks over at the door for a brief second—probably making sure my mom didn't hear my scream—before he pulls me in closer against his body and strokes my face with his finger. I then realize that my face is damp; I must have cried during the horrific nightmare.

"I thought they took you," I sob quietly against his chest.

He's quiet, signaling me that he catches on to what I'm too scared to say aloud.

"It felt so real," I add.

"You just had a bad dream," he says as he plants a kiss on top of my head.

"But that's just it… it could very easily be a reality."

Silence falls over us again, because he knows I'm right. We've been lucky up until now, but eventually our luck will run out… Surely, this has crossed his mind. I then imagine how afraid he's been this entire time; every time a siren sounds off in the distant, or when the door opens, or even every night when he falls asleep. I wonder how many nights he has actually gotten good restful sleep. I can't imagine being in his position—being scared every second of the day.

"I figured you would have wanted me to be caught by now, so I can finally get out of your hair," he attempts in joking to lighten the mood.

"Please don't joke like that, Kendall…" I beg. "Not now. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

"Hey, look at me," he commands softly.

I do as he orders.

"I'm not going anywhere. See? I'm right here… with you. I'm safe, because of _you_. It's been about a week and no one but you knows where I'm at," he pacifies.

I have to mentally count the days in my head for a moment, since my idle brain isn't functioning at full strength at the moment. But, Kendall's right. It has been a little over a week since he's been hiding in our home. It feels like I've known him for so much longer. In the short time we've had together, it feels like we're two old souls from past lives that have reunited.

But, still, I question the duration of Kendall's stay here. All the days lately have seemed to merge together. They have been exciting, suspenseful, and, at times, terrifying. My once normal—and I'll admit it, boring—life seems to have morphed into something much more catastrophic, yet absolutely wonderful. After all, I now have Kendall in my life. I'd gladly take the bad a million times over if it meant I could have another day with him. I can't help but wonder how much longer we have together… it only seems to make every moment with him feel more special and incredibly precious.

"I can't sleep now," I say aloud for no particular reason.

"You're worrying about too much, Logan," he whispers against my neck.

I skim my fingers along his shirtless body, tracing the tattoos covering his body.

"Kendall?"

"Yeah?"

"You've never told me what your tattoos mean."

He humors me, because he knows it'll take a distraction to get me to fall back to sleep. So he rolls on his back and taps his finger on an ornate skull tattoo on his upper right arm.

"This one's a sugar skull. Everything on it represents different things about me or things I like," he states.

My eyes immediately dart to the flowers in place of the eyes.

"What do the sunflowers symbolize?"

"They're the state flower of my home state," he replies.

"You're… from Kansas?"

"Wow, I'm impressed. Usually people don't know or guess wrong."

I'm too fascinated to learn this new piece of information about him that I barely acknowledge his compliment.

"When did you move from Kansas?" I ask now that he's piqued my interest in him.

He looks away briefly but his eyes meet mine again.

"That's something I'll share another time," he says with a serious look.

I know that look. It means he's not elaborating anymore. And I know I can't convince him to budge either, so I drop it and ask about the tattoos on his back.

"Well, this one's my sign," he says of his Scorpio tattoo.

I remember him telling me he was a Scorpio the first night we stayed up talking. We've come a long way from then. But even then, I knew that there was something special about him… I just didn't exactly know what it was yet.

"And the one on my back," he continues as he turns over so the tattoo of a peace sign is exposed, "it represents the four elements; earth, wind, fire, water."

I gently touch his tattoo with the tips of my fingers. His skin is soft and smooth. I want to trace every part of his beautiful body.

I realize that on some level he's spiritual, deep, and intuitive. He's not one to be vocal about everything that crosses his mind—which makes him more enigmatic and sexier to me. He possesses a very strong sense of self; he isn't trying to be someone he's not. He's not affected by outside influences. He's very much his own person, which is rare for people of our age.

"What about that one?" I ask, referring to his left arm.

"It's a sutured heart," he says with a self-deprecating grin.

"It's also a heart on your sleeve… quite literally," I add.

"I suppose I'm secretly a bit of a hopeless romantic," he chuckles nervously.

"I'm sorry to break it to you, Kendall, but it's no secret if it's emblazoned on your arm," I tease.

"I guess that's true, smartass," he smiles as he playfully pinches me.

"It's sutured, though," I backtrack. "You mentioned you were in love once before," I remind him with reluctance.

"Yeah, I was. At least, I think I was."

"What was her name?"

"How do you know it was a girl?"

"Because you've told me you've never kissed a guy before. Unless you lied about that…" I play with him.

"No lie," he laughs almost musically.

"I'm waiting," I feign impatience.

"On what?"

"The love of your life's name?" I tease.

"She wasn't the love of my life," he rolls his eyes. "And her name was Lucy."

"Lucy," I repeat without purpose.

I try to envision her solely on her name, but all I come up with is a pretty thin Kansas girl. I'm instantly jealous of a person I've never met before. It's petty and childish, but it's how I feel whether I prefer it or not. I hate myself for being envious of Kendall's past, but there's so much he hasn't told me, so when he does tell me things like this, it feels like he's lived an entire life—an entire life without me in it.

"What was she like?"

"She was a pretty young thing. Funny thing is we didn't get along at first. She was stubborn and liked to play coy, but she was also the best fucking guitarist—female or not—that I'd ever met. And she introduced me to a lot of sick bands. We used to sneak into concerts together," he rants on about his perfect girl as my self-esteem continues to plummet.

I imagine a life for Kendall in which he was still back home with his family and Lucy. I picture him running through the sunflower fields of Kansas—smiling, laughing, and playing music, as the sun beams down on his glorious face. I picture him free. I want a better life for him, because he deserves it. But the selfish part of me wants him for myself. He's an ageless soul that should be unbound and set to share his passions with the world, but instead he's a caged bird.

"She sounds… perfect for you," I say trying to mask the jealousy in my voice.

It's clearly a futile effort, because Kendall detects every nuance of mine.

"Hey, she was cool. And yes, I had feelings for her, but you… What I feel for you is indescribable. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

"You really shouldn't say things like that to me," I say.

"Why's that?" he asks with a baffled look.

"Because it only makes everything harder. Can't you see? I'm falling for you, Kendall," I confess as tears begin to roll down my face.

He cups my face and kisses me hard. All unnecessary things are wiped from my mind. All I think of is Kendall. He fills my consciousness with happiness and serenity, and my heart with love.

"There's no one else that compares to you, Logan," he says breathlessly.

"The same can be said about you," I say as I rest my forehead on his.

The thought of him leaving is paralyzing. I now understand that I must fight to protect him and keep him safe now more than ever. He's my world now. I would be crushed if he was taken away from me.

Kendall lies back on his pillow, while I rest my head on his chest. My eyelids start to feel heavy, and I'm getting to the point where I'm tired again, but there's so much more I want to know about him.

"Kendall?"

"What is it, babe?"

"Tell me about your family."

He's quiet for a moment. I'm not sure if it's because he's debating whether or not he should open up about them to me, or if he's simply thinking about what he remembers of them.

"I've already told you about my mom," he reminds.

"Yeah, but what your father? Do you have any siblings?"

He clears his throat and slightly shifts his weight. He's clearly uncomfortable talking about them in depth.

"I have a kid sister; Katie," he finally opens up.

"How old is she?"

"She's thirteen—and adorable. But don't let her cuteness fool you. She's insanely clever and cunning," he chuckles quietly. "You remind a lot of her actually."

"You said the same thing about your mom," I remind him.

"What can I say; you remind me of home, I guess," he comments with a tender smile.

"I bet your sister adores you," I comment.

"Why makes you think that?"

"Because the way that you talk about her, I can tell that you love her," I observe.

"I do. Very much so," he says in a somber tone.

"Do you miss them?" I ask.

I'm unsure if the question is out of line. I don't know how appropriate it is to ask a fugitive whether or not sacrificing his home life is in good taste or not, but how could I know? I've never harbored a fugitive before.

"I try not to think about them too much," he says.

"I'm sure they miss you," I add as an attempt to make him feel better, but based on his expression, it looks like I just made it more painful for him.

I shot of pain courses through me. It's like we're empathetically connected. If he hurts, I hurt.

"You are like Katie. She's always prying," he teases.

"Am I prying?" I ask sarcastically.

"You tell me," he grins.

"I'm sorry. I just want to know you better."

"It's okay. I didn't mean it in a bad way."

"So is she your only sibling?" I pry a little more.

"Yeah, it's just Katie and me."

"And your father?" I ask.

He's silent again.

"He's no longer in my life," he says in a low voice.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I guess neither one of our fathers wanted to stick around, huh?"

Kendall doesn't say anything. Instead, he simply gives me a weak smile and kisses my forehead. I take this as a sign that he's through with the questions.

"I think you should get some sleep now," he hums into my ear.

"I'm not tired," I lie as my lids fight to remain open.

"Well, regardless, you'll need your rest for tomorrow."

I groan, because he's referring to mom taking me tuxedo shopping tomorrow.

"I still don't know why she insisted on taking an entire day off of work to go with me," I complain.

"Probably because she knows you'll procrastinate finding a tux," Kendall comments.

And he's absolutely right. Prom is the least significant thing currently happening in my life.

"What a waste of a perfectly good Saturday, though."

"It'll be good," he says. "You two need to spend some time together. I've been hogging you all to myself lately," he smiles from ear to ear.

"No, you're right. She wants to do this, so I might as well put on my best face and let her have her moment."

"That's the spirit," he patronizes.

"Alright, alright… Good night," I roll my eyes.

"Good night, Logan," he says before planting a kiss on my lips.

God he's beautiful…

I finally submit to my weariness and fall asleep almost immediately.

Luckily, I don't have any more dreams of policemen taking away Kendall. I do, however, have a strange dream of Kendall and me kissing underwater. The rain outside my window probably has something to do with it.

The next time I open my eyes, the sun is partially out, and most of the rain has subsided. I try to quietly sneak out of bed so I won't wake Kendall. But when I try to climb over him, he groans and opens his eyes as I'm sitting on top of him.

"Well, hello there…" he smirks seductively.

"It's not what you think," I whisper.

But he ignores me and pulls me down for a kiss. I close my eyes and let my body take control. My body instinctively grinds against his, causing both of us to moan. Like usual, he pulls away when we begin to get too hot and heavy, leaving me sitting there sexually frustrated and begging for more.

"You really shouldn't tease," I say.

"It's you who's the tease," he purrs against my neck.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand.

"Shoot, I have to get ready. Mom wants us to leave the house no later than ten o'clock."

"Fine, I guess I'll let you go," he says.

As I slide out of bed and walk away, he whistles, causing me to blush. But it's flattering nonetheless.

I quickly get dressed and head for the bathroom. I brush my teeth quickly and vigorously, and splash cold water on my face. I haphazardly run a comb through my hair to tame most of it.

Mom is putting on her shoes when I come out of the bathroom.

"Perfect timing," she says. "Ready?"

"Ready whenever you are," I reply as I jump into my Converse sneakers.

"Are you excited as I am?" Mom beams.

I just give her a big fake grin and nod for her benefit, as she grabs her purse and car keys.

We open the door and as soon as we do, there's a person standing outside, startling the both of us. Then I see it's no ordinary person. It's a police officer. My face goes ghost white and my heart stops. My nightmare is suddenly turning into a reality.

"Good morning, folks," the officer greets us behind his reflective aviators.

"Oh, officer, you scared me. Is everything all right?" Mom asks.

"Well, I'm not sure if you've been keeping up with the news, ma'am, but there's a fugitive hiding somewhere in the area."

"Yes. Yes, I'm aware of it," Mom nods.

"Well, we believe that he may be somewhere in this neighborhood based on where he was spotted last."

"Oh, my god, that's awful."

"We don't want to alarm you, but we just wanted to ask if you've seen or heard anything suspicious going on in the neighborhood."

"No, not at all, but I'll definitely contact the police department if I do," Mom replies cooperatively.

"Yes, please do, ma'am."

Then the officer stops and looks pass Mom and right at me.

"Son, have you seen anything?"

My throat feels dry and I feel the veins bulging from my temple.

"No, officer, I have not."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," I lie.

He stares at me for a moment longer then looks back at Mom.

"Do you mind if we take a look around, ma'am?"

My eyes widen for a fraction of a second before I fight to regain control of myself. I have to remain stoic, otherwise I'll give them too much to suspect. I look at my mom, praying she denies them entry, but I'm afraid she won't. I have no control left. It's all in her hands, and she has absolutely no clue the kind of power she has right now.

A part of me now wishes that I had told her about Kendall. Maybe if I explained the situation enough to her then perhaps she could have been convinced he doesn't pose a threat to us. I wait for her reply, which feels like torture for me.

"Officer, I already told you that I haven't seen or heard anything. And my son hasn't either. We were actually just on our way out, so if you'll excuse us."

Relief washes over me and I've never been more grateful to go shopping than I am now. I look down and I realize that I've clenched my hands into fists the entire time. I loosen my fists and allow the blood to flow back to my knuckles and fingers.

"Very well, then. Thank you for your time, folks," he tips his head at my mom, and moves aside so we can walk pass him.

I involuntarily tense up as I walk by. It's hard to tell if the officer's eyes are on me, since he's wearing those reflective lenses. All I see is my terrified face reflected back.

Mom locks the door and we get into the car as the officer goes and harasses the next house.

"Can you believe that guy?" Mom exclaims when we get into the car. "Does he think we're actually hiding a runaway teen or something?"

I just chuckle nervously, because I'm still too speechless to produce any real words.

I stare at our house as we drive away. My mind is completely with Kendall. I pray that nobody discovers him while we're away. The fear and anxiety from just the thought of losing him now boils inside of me. Inside I'm screaming with fear, but outside I try my best to remain composed as to not alarm my mom. I have to be more careful now than ever. What happened just now was entirely too close for comfort. If Mom had actually invited the officer in, then I would have been arrested for being an accomplice. But oddly my own self-preservation isn't even my biggest concern… What scares me, what is really plaguing my thoughts, is the idea of them taking Kendall away from me.

And, for me, that's truly the worst kind of nightmare.


	13. Secrets

**A/N: Apologies about not having a new chapter last week, but I'm back! A quick recap in case you missed last chapter; the cops came to the Mitchells' door—a very close encounter—while still on the search for our favorite blonde fugitive. I think last chapter was a somewhat crucial one, because it reminded everyone of the main focus and which is, what will happen with Kendall?**

**Before I even started writing this fanfic, I wanted the first arc of the story to focus most on a growing romance between Logan and Kendall, and the second half to focus on the drama surrounding Kendall's past and crime. Don't fret; there will still be plenty of romance… But, I think after last chapter, we really got the ball rolling and things are starting to take shape! I'm so excited to share the second half of the story with you, because I honestly think there are some great moments. I wrote most of it already, but it's just a matter of fine-tuning and editing it!**

**There are many great things to come in the second half, including Kendall's confession scene, prom, and the love scene (oh my!) to name a few! I hope you're ready! ;)**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"My Mind" by Portugal. The Man

"Feel It All Around" by Washed Out

"Twice" by Little Dragon

**I chose "My Mind" as the opening song, because I saw Portugal. The Man at a concert in Oklahoma a few years back and I absolutely loved their sound. It's this bizarre mix of happiness and sadness, which if you haven't figured it out by now, musically, I'm constantly drawn to! I think the song also parallels Logan's feelings. He's stuck at the mall when all he wants is to be with Kendall, knowing he's safe and sound.**

**When Logan returns home, I wanted a song that really felt poignant, but not corny and mushy—a love song with soul, basically. I think, tonally, "Feel It All Around" captures that perfectly. It's dreamy, melodic, and mesmerizing… just like Kogan.**

**For the end scene with Logan and his mom, I wanted another poignant song, but something that felt wounded. I think if you listen to the song while reading the scene, it will help illustrate Logan's thought process in that scene.**

**Anyway, please read and review as always. I give you chapter 13, "Secrets".**

* * *

Mom and I arrive at the mall, but my mind is so far removed—I'm still mentally back at home with Kendall. I pray that he's safe, that no one has discovered his whereabouts. I want more than anything to be at home, to protect him, and to see his beautiful face smile back at me, assuring me that he will never be torn from me. But instead I have to find a tux for prom—what a trivial thing to do when so much is at stake. If I didn't detest prom before today, I definitely do now. There's really no point in me going, other than to keep a promise I made to Camille.

My own prom feels like a farce. It's not for me. It's to make Camille—and Mom—happy. But what about Kendall? It will only be another night that I'll be away from him. It will be another night I won't be there to protect him. And, more deeply, what about me? If I lose Kendall, then what's the point? He's all I want in life. If I can't keep him, then nothing else will ever matter… certainly not something as mindless as prom.

"Logan?" Mom's voices calls to me.

My eyes refocus and I break out of my deep thoughts. _You have to act as if everything is fine_, I remind myself.

"Honey, do you like this one?" Mom asks, pointing to an ugly seafoam-colored tux.

I simply shake my head in disapproval. She frowns and sighs in frustration, because this is the fifth tux I've rejected already.

"Oh, how about this one?" she says, holding out an off-white tux paired with an obnoxiously bright crimson red vest. There's even a hideous matchy-match red bowtie to go with the ensemble.

I barely even bother shaking my head at this one. I'm much too distracted and disinterested to put any effort in just rejection her pick at this point.

"Well, I just thought it'd be cute for you and Camille to match. You said her dress is red, right?"

I just nod. Apparently words are too difficult for me today. Mom catches on to my distraction—or what probably appears to her to just be a bad mood.

I'm becoming too cynical about prom. And Mom can see it. I promised that today I would let her have her fun; she can dress me up and live vicariously through my prom experience. But I'm ruining it for her. She's taken the day off for the first time in who knows how long and I can't even seem to make an effort. I glance at her and can see how frustrated and defeated she looks.

"Mom, I'm sorry," I sigh.

She turns and looks at me with curious eyes.

"You'll try harder?" she asks, giving me a doubtful look.

"Yeah, I promise," I give her a small smile.

Her eyes immediately light up.

"Okay, so which one do _you_ like?"

"Well… I like something not too flashy... Like, maybe that one," I point to a classic but slim black tux.

"Classic is good," Mom gives me an agreeable nod.

She then goes and fetches a salesman to measure my chest and shoulders to figure out my size. After we find out my size, we pair different styles and colors of vests with the tux. I eventually choose a cream-colored vest—another classic pairing—with a black silk bowtie. I guess I'm just a traditionalist—or a minimalist. I'm not entirely sure which one is truer.

And as much as our salesman tries to convince to me wear one of those silly cummerbund, I have to refuse. They look like girdles for guys to me. The salesman seems slightly disappointed, probably because he'll be making less commission since I've rejected that piece, but Mom seems happy that I'm leaving with anything.

Next, we go to a shoe store and pick out some black dress shoes. Picking out the shoes seems a lot easier than the tux. I decide almost immediately which pair I want before we purchase them. They're simple and understated—they're black shoes, after all. After we get my prom shoes, Mom wants lunch, so we decide to brave the crowded food court.

We order our lunch and sit at one of the last remaining tables in the packed food court. Malls are disgusting… Just swarms of consumers trying to snatch up the latest trend. It makes me long to be alone with Kendall in our quiet little safe haven.

Mom begins devouring her salad as soon as we sit. I order a BTL sandwich, but I barely have an appetite—how could I? My mind wanders and thinks of Kendall again. I just nibble on my sandwich for Mom's benefit. I wouldn't want her to question why I'm not eating my food.

But there's something that plaguing my mind. I don't have a lot of choices when it comes to seeking advice.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Yeah, sweetie?" she says through a mouthful of food.

"Do you believe people deserve second chances?" I ask.

She stops mid-chew and briefly thinks about my question.

"Depends, Logan," she finally replies.

"On what?"

"On what they did wrong."

"What if you don't know, though?"

"Well, then I would ask them first. And then you can decide whether or not that person deserves another chance."

"But what if you know this person is fundamentally good-hearted… does that make whatever crime, I mean, uh, wrong they did excusable?"

"Why are you asking me all these questions, Logie-Bear?" Mom chuckles lightly at me. "You didn't rob a bank or anything recently have you?" she jokes.

"No," I chuckle. "I was just wondering."

She resumes eating and there's not even a flash of suspicion, which is good, but sometimes I wish I could tell my mom anything and know she'll completely understand. Unfortunately, I don't think she'll ever understand why I've kept Kendall hidden from her and the law. In truth, I'm not even sure why I'm hiding him either. I mean, it's not like I have all the details. Something in my gut just tells me I'd be feeding him to the wolves if I turned him in. The idea of right and wrong—of morality—hangs over me. Eventually, I'll have to face it, but for now, all I want to know is that Kendall is safe.

Mom and I finish our lunch. Well, she finishes hers, while I discard most of mine. We browse a few more stores, and Mom even picks out a few things for herself, but I'm still too worried about Kendall to fully give her my attention. She then insists that we look around the mall some more, but I have had enough of shopping already. I feign a stomachache and ask her if we can leave.

"Yeah, of course, sweetie. It was probably the sandwich you ate," she says, even though I barely took two bites of it.

I just go along with it and hold my stomach, trying my best to play sick. I'm getting awfully good at lying… I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing.

We finally leave the mall. I smile triumphantly as we drive away. Words cannot begin to describe how anxious and excited I am to see Kendall. I try not to imagine a home without him… he _is_ my home now.

I look out my window and see the sun is barely visible. The clouds have seemed to form together again. I guess the rain decided to return after all, leaving the brief sunny day to turn dark again. I see the first drop of rain hit our windshield before the rest of the raindrops follow.

"Oh, great… more rain," Mom groans. "Just when I thought we might actually get a clear weekend."

The rain continues to hit on the hood and roof of our car. As much as I had hoped for a sunnier month in May—especially since we got so much rainfall in April—I'm actually welcoming the rain today. It feels soothing and therapeutic listening to the noise of the rain hit against the sides of our car. I imagine snuggling up in bed with Kendall as the rain pounds outside my bedroom window, and I smile from the sheer delight of the image.

My reverie is broken when the car comes to a halt. I look up and see we're in our driveway. My heart instantly beats faster from excitement and anticipation of seeing Kendall. I swiftly unbuckle myself and jump out in the rain, without realizing I'd forgotten my shopping bags until I make it to the front door. I turn around to see Mom pulling them out from the backseat. I give her a grateful nod and unlock the door. I shake the excess rainwater off my body. I want so badly to run to Kendall, who's only mere feet away from me, but I fight the urge to do so.

I don't want Mom to come after me and find me in the arms of the fugitive the entire police department has been searching for. I can't risk it, especially after the close encounter earlier today.

Mom comes in and mumbles something about the weather.

"You should go take a warm shower and then dry off, Mom," I suggest.

"Yeah, you know what, that does sound like a good idea," she smiles, as she wipes the dripping water from her face.

"Here, I'll take those into my room," I say of the bags she's still holding.

"Oh, perfect. I'm glad we found everything you needed. You and Camille are going to look so cute!" she chimes.

I give her a half smile. I wait until she closes the door then I bolt into my room. I immediately drop the bags and walk until I'm in front of my closet and yank on the doorknob. I see him standing there smiling back at me. My face immediately lights up, too. He's everything that I've waited for all day and more. He's perfection.

I grip onto his t-shirt and pull him to me. Our mouths instantly find the other. Our mouths part and I welcome his wet tongue. My hand grazes the back of his neck and my fingers intertwine with his dirty blonde locks, and I tilt my head back as he leans in to deepen our kiss. His scent perfumes the air, intoxicating me in the process. He smells and tastes heavenly.

My breathing becomes intense and labored, but I'd gladly forfeit my last remaining breath if it meant I got to kiss Kendall a moment longer. He pulls me in by my lower back until our bodies are flush against each other.

I briefly pull back and look at him. His lips part and his breathing comes out unsteadily. His lips look plump and red from the impact of mine. And his lashes partially shield his dreamy eyes, but the golden green hue still sine through luminously. My breathing hitches upon looking into his hypnotic eyes. I could spend part of eternity just getting lost in them.

He cups my face and plants a light and chaste kiss on my lips. My heart practically sings. It's incredible how much his lightest touch can compare to his deepest touch. I interlock my fingers with his and gaze into his eyes. I feel my heart swell and it terrifies me. I'd never imagined how much I would fall for this beautiful stranger…

I take his hand and walk him over to the bed. We lie down and simply stare into each other's eyes. We don't need any words. We can inexplicably convey how we feel through our eyes. He brings his hand to the side of my face, and I bring mine up to keep his there in place. Electricity courses through my body as it always do when he touches me.

"Kendall… the cops came to our house today," I tell him.

"I know. I heard," he says in a low voice.

I can tell he's trying to sound casual, but there's a hint of fear in his tone.

"It was close; too close. I was worried sick all day," I confess.

"I'm sorry," he states as he brushes his fingers against my face.

"For what?"

"For putting you through all of this."

"Kendall, I told you. You're part of this home now. You're family to me. I can't let anything happen to you."

"And I can't let anything happen to you either," he clarifies. "If you're caught with me… who knows what would happen to you, too."

"I'm not afraid," I say with conviction.

And, for the first time since this whole situation, I'm really not afraid.

"Such a silly boy," Kendall chuckles at me.

We lie there until I hear Mom come out of her room.

"I'll be back," I whisper to him.

He nods, because he knows this is what we have to do. We constantly have to be on edge, wondering who will see us, or when we'll be caught. It's inevitable. He knows this. He lives with it constantly. I've suppressed the reality of the situation for too long now. Today, with the policeman at our door, was a huge wake-up call. It reminded me that this isn't a game. This is real. I'm compromising myself—and my mom—just for harboring Kendall in my room.

But as much as I know how easily it would be to return to a normal and safe life, I can't do it. Because in order to resume a life without danger always looming over me, it means I would have to sacrifice the one person I want most in life. It means I would have to betray Kendall.

The thought alone makes me sick.

I exit the room and make sure to close the door tightly behind me. Mom stands in the hall wearing a bathrobe and rubs her hair dry with a towel.

"What do you want for dinner, Logie-Bear?"

The thought of Mom making dinner isn't too appealing.

"I can make us something," I suggest kindly as to not hurt her feelings.

"Are you sure? I feel like you're always slaving away in the kitchen."

"It's not a problem. I enjoy cooking. It's… cathartic for me," I say.

And it's the truth. Cooking has always been something to get me through the loneliness.

"Well, can I help with anything at least?" Mom offers.

"No need. Why don't you just go into the living room and relax, while I whip up something for us."

"That doesn't seem very fair to you," she frowns.

"It's alright. I don't mind. And besides, you haven't had a real day off in, well, forever."

"That _is_ true. Okay! No complaints here!" she shrugs.

I head into the kitchen as Mom plops herself down on the couch and turns on the TV. I grab the ingredients I need out of the fridge and pantry.

"Mom, what do you think about chicken and rice casserole for dinner?" I say from the kitchen.

"Mmm, sounds good to me!" she enthuses.

I prep all the ingredients and place them into a casserole dish, then pop it into the oven. I set the timer on and sit down with Mom as the dish bakes in the oven.

"What are you watching?" I ask her.

"The news," she replies with her eyes still fixed on the TV.

I turn forward and my jaw unhinges when I see the portrait of Kendall up on our TV screen.

"I guess they're still looking for him," Mom says.

My eyes are glued to the TV screen now, as well. I've practically avoided the outside world other than school since Kendall's come into my life.

Everyone is searching for this stranger, who's been living in my bedroom this entire time. It feels like I'm lying to the entire town, including my own mom. It feels like I have a dirty secret or that I'm living a double life.

"_The local police department suspects the fugitive is still in the area. The manhunt for the teenager continues after almost two weeks of searching_," the reporter informs. "_Officials believe the fugitive may be hiding in a residential home_."

The reporter interviews an official. It's the same officer that came to our door earlier today. It appears he's not just any ordinary police officer, but the county sheriff.

"_If you have any information, contact officials immediately and do not attempt to apprehend the fugitive on your own accord," _the sheriff advises_. "We believe he may be potentially armed and dangerous_."

The word "dangerous" instantly hits me. He's not just some person they're searching for. They think he may actually pose a threat to the community. I think back to when Kendall first intruded our home. I, too, thought he was dangerous. I wish they could see what I see in him now. He's not dangerous. He could never hurt anyone…

The TV cuts back to the field reporter.

"_The ongoing manhunt has left residents of the county feeling unsafe and worried, but officials assure they will find the teenage fugitive, who's suspected to be linked to_—"

But before the reporter can finish the TV cuts off. I gasp, because they were about to say what I could never get Kendall to say—they were about to say why he's been running from the law.

I look over and see Mom holding the remote.

"Well, enough of that, huh? It will only make us feel more uneasy sleeping at night," she sighs and shakes her head.

A part of me wants to snatch the remote from her hand and turn the TV back on. But, the other part of me knows that I don't want to find out what Kendall did… at least, not now. Not like this. I'm beginning to fall for him. Everything that I know and feel for him will be tarnished by this dark past—a past that existed before he met me. So is it even fair to hold that against him? But more importantly, I don't want to find out from some media outlet. I want more than anything for Kendall to be able to trust me enough to tell me himself.

"Such a shame," Mom shakes her head.

"What is?"

"He's so young… and cute, too!" she adds.

I give her a smile filled with irony. If I think about it, it's rather funny. My mom has no clue that the very person they're looking for is less than twenty feet away from her. At least now I know, if in some strange alternate universe that I could actually bring Kendall home and introduce him to Mom as my boyfriend, that she would think he's "cute"! I can't help but laugh at the irony…

"What's so funny?" she asks.

"Oh, nothing… I should check on the casserole," I excuse myself.

I take out the bubbling casserole with oven mitts and set it on the stove to cool. I cut into it and plate a serving for Mom and one for me. We sit at the dining table and eat mostly in silence.

"Mom?" I say finally breaking the silence.

"Yes, Logie?"

"Do you think it is okay to keep a secret from someone you care about?" I ask her as my eyes remain fixed on my plate.

"Logan, is everything okay? You're starting to worry me. First, at the mall with all the questions about second chances, and now whether or lying is acceptable… Is there something you want to tell me?"

"N-no… It's just for… Camille. She's going through stuff," I lie.

She looks at me with tentative eyes, but replies to my question.

"I know that the good parenting answer would be to say that telling the truth is always the right thing to do, but honestly, I think you're much smarter than that so, well, I suppose it depends on the lie," she advises.

"So it's okay if the lie is to protect someone you care about?"

"I guess," Mom answers hesitantly. "Depends on the 'someone'."

"Like a parent," I clarify.

"_Especially_ a parent," she encourages.

I can tell that this conversation is making her nervous that it may be about me even if I did deny it.

"Well, what about someone you've just met."

"Well, then I would reconsider," she says, before setting her fork down and looking at me. "Honey, are you _sure_ there's nothing you want to tell me?"

I simply nod. I don't know if it's enough of a convincing nod to throw her suspicion out though.

"But… what if you really care for this person… and you think they really care for you? Should you allow them to keep a secret from you?" I ask.

"Well, trust is the foundation for any kind of healthy relationship, whether it's familial, friendly, or romantic. If they can't trust you, then it can never be a healthy relationship."

I go silent, because I know she's right. There's not enough trust between Kendall and me. I can't keep going on and pretend like there's not an elephant in the room every time I'm with him. He still won't tell me why he's hiding. I think of how I want Kendall to constantly open up, but yet I'm always closed off to everyone else around me. I'm a hypocrite.

I have the inexplicable urge to tell her something about me that I've kept from her for so long. I want to tell her that her little boy isn't exactly what she may consider normal.

I want to tell her I'm in love with a guy.

"Mom… there's something I want to tell you," I say.

She looks at me expectantly—and nervously.

"Yeah, of course, sweetie."

"I… I'm—"

The home phone rings and cuts me off.

"Oh, excuse me really quickly, Logie," she says as she runs and gets the phone. "Hello? Oh, hi, Mom! No, no… you didn't call at a bad time," I hear her say to Nana.

Then she takes her conversation into her room and closes the door. I sit alone at the dining table feeling stupid for thinking I could have a deep conversation with my mom. Who am I kidding… she wouldn't accept her son as being different. I know this.

I clear the table and throw the dishes into the dishwasher and power it on. I pile on some casserole onto a plate for Kendall. I turn off all the lights and head back into my room to retire, because I know that my mom won't be coming back out for the rest of the evening. This is our relationship.

"Hey," Kendall greets me when I return.

"Hey," I smile.

I rub the back of my neck, feeling the emotionally-draining day hit me.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod and I walk over and set the dinner plate down on the nightstand for him.

"Hungry?" I ask.

"Yeah… but not for food," he smirks, looking me up and down seductively.

I don't say anything. Instead, I move to the edge of the bed and begin taking off my clothes. I can see Kendall freeze in place. He gulps, causing his Adam's apple to noticeable move.

"What are you doing?" he says.

"Am I not allowed to undress in my own room?" I ask facetiously.

He doesn't respond. Instead, he glances at my exposed body when I'm left in just my underwear. I slide into bed with him, and immediately tug at the hem of his shirt. I lift it over his head, and he kicks off his pants right after. I turn off the lamp on my nightstand and we lie in bed half-naked. I move until I'm in his arms. He embraces me and I tilt my head up and kiss him. I know I should feel conflicted and guilt—and honestly, a part of me do. But for now, I want to enjoy my time with him.

Yes, he's my secret. After all, doesn't everyone have one?


	14. Criminal (Pt 1)

**A/N: This chapter is a bit lengthier than the previous chapters, but it's a crucial one. Actually, the entire chapter was even longer, but I had to cut it down, and even in its final form, it's still long! It's the first part of a two-parter for that reason. I'm so excited to share this chapter with you, and I know it's been a long time coming! You've all waited so patiently and I just wanted to say again, thank you for all of your kind words!**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Eyes Closed" by The Narrative

"Sleepless" The Decemberists

"The High Road" by Broken Bells

"Mykonos" by Fleet Foxes

**So many good songs to choose from, but I "Eyes Closed" for the opening scene.**

**For Logan's dream of Kendall, I chose "Sleepless" because I think it soundtracks the scene beautifully.**

**"The High Road" is one of my favorite songs by Broken Bells and I liked it for when Kendall and Logan are alone at home. It could also be interpreted many ways.**

**For the closing scene, I chose "Mykonos" because it's a beautiful song about wanting something better for someone you love. You see their potential, but they're just wasting it. I felt it was appropriate for the end of this chapter.**

**Without further ado, I give you chapter 14, "Criminal Pt. 1". Please review and share your thoughts!**

* * *

A sound emits from somewhere far in the recesses of my mind. It sounds like a whine, maybe a groan. Perhaps I'm having a nightmare. It must be a nightmare, because I'm asleep. A tiny part of me is aware of this, but the only problem is… I'm not dreaming. My eyelids slowly and lazily open. The room is dark, only partially lit by the half-moon illuminating the hazy night.

I look over at Kendall, who's sleeping on his back. His shirtless torso is exposed from above the blanket we're sharing. He looks magnificent even in the shallow light. But when I look at his face, it's not as angelic as I'm used to seeing it. His brows are furrowed, his forehead creased. Small beads of sweat have formed, dotting his face. His lips are pursed together and his jaw looks set. I look back down and I see his hands are balled up into fists. He mumbles something incoherent. He seems angry, yet afraid. It must have been his voice that I heard in my sleep. There's nothing more that I want than to know what he's thinking, what he's feeling right now…

He continues to mumble in his sleep. I lean in closer hoping to pick out some of the words, but all I can gather is "stay away". His body begins to slightly thrash. His hands grip desperately and angrily onto the sheets and his legs began to flail and kick. His groans get louder, which causes me to instinctively look at my bedroom door, worrying that Mom may come charging in thinking it's me that's screaming.

"Kendall," I whisper, placing a hand on his shoulder as comfort.

He doesn't respond. Instead, he continues to thrash and talk in his sleep. The veins on his neck bulge and he begins to sweat profusely.

"Kendall," I gently rock his body, but receive no indication that he's even acknowledged me.

"Get away," I hear him call out more coherently.

"Kendall!" I half-whisper and half-shout as I shake him.

"No!" he screams as his eyes fly open.

Instantly, my head is slammed against the headboard of the bed and I feel Kendall's tight grip around my neck. It happens so quickly that when I finally register what's happening, so does he.

He looks at me with a terrorized and ghastly gaze. He finally relinquishes his tight strangle, and my breathing finally returns.

"Logan… I'm so sorry… I-I didn't…"

"It's okay," I say through almost a struggling wheeze and small fits of coughing.

I swallow hard to aid my dry throat.

Kendall still looks baffled and even scans his surroundings, probably to make sure he's no longer dreaming—either that or he's briefly forgotten where he is. I've always wondered whether or not his two realities have bled together. I constantly have to remind myself he had a life before he came through my bedroom window.

I look at him, with a cautious stare. He looks back at me; his eyes convey to me that he's sincerely apologetic.

"You had a bad dream," I state.

It's not a question. Even he can't lie or deny this one this time. He briefly looks at me, but remains silent.

"You want to talk about it?" I ask.

He shakes his head slowly. I can tell that he's still terrorized by whatever it was that he dreamt. I imagine it wasn't just your run of the mill nightmare… this is clearly something that terrorizes his mind all the time—even in his waking hours—any fool can see it. It has to be linked to whatever crime he has committed or was involved in. I know, like all the other times that I've tried, that he won't be telling me. All I can do is to pacify his fear.

I hold his head to my chest and kiss the top of it. I stroke his blonde hair and I feel his breathing slowly steadying itself again, as does mine.

"I can help you, you know…" I say quietly. "If you just tell me."

He's silent for a moment.

"No one can help me," he says almost inaudibly.

His voice sounds so broken, so sad; I barely recognize it. It kills me to think that he feels that he either cannot trust me with his dark secret or that no one can help him out of his mess.

There are so many things I want to say to him; angry things, hurt things, understanding things… but I leave it alone, because I know that even though it's not what he _needs_, it is what he wants. So I remain silent and continue rocking him gently in my arms. We're both broken creatures in many ways, but I fear that he may be more damaged than me. I see it in the faint sadness in his eyes. I hear it in the slight torment of his voice. I feel it in the anxious curiosity of his touch. He's damaged. Whether or not he's fully repairable, I could never know. But all I know is that I refuse to let him face his demons alone.

He breathing slows. I carefully look down and see that his eyes have closed. His angelic face still looks haunted, but softer and more at ease. I continue to hold him and allow him to sleep in my arms. I think of the horrific troubled life for someone as beautiful and loving as Kendall. No one should go through what he's enduring, but I eventually fall asleep, too; even if it did take a while.

I dream of an open field—it's vast. In fact, it seems endless. The sun shines with a few slow moving clouds drifting in the equally endless blue sky. The rays beam down on the corn field of what I imagine is Kansas, making the field appear as if it's literally glistening in gold. My jaw drops and I gasp as I take in the incredible beauty. The wind gently sways the tall stalks of corn from side to side, causing them to shimmering even more in the sunlight. I look around to the seemingly empty field, until my eyes land on something more beautiful than the heavenly field. It's Kendall.

He's dressed casually. He's not wearing the dark colors I'm used to seeing on him. Instead, he's wearing white so bright that I almost have to shield my eyes. It's as if he's actually glowing. He sees me from a distance. He doesn't move. He stands in place, looking more graceful and at peace than I've ever seen him. He gives me a smile. It's small, but enough to convey to me that he's all right. I smile back, and my heart practically sings from the bliss, because this is all I've ever wanted for him. I want him free, happy and safe—even if it's at the expense of not having him with me…

My eyes open again, only this time the sun is out. I move my stiff neck and stretch my arms. I then realize that Kendall is no longer in my arms. I momentarily panic, but my anxiety goes away when he comes into the room with a tray of breakfast.

My heart beats for several reasons. One, for knowing that he's safe; and two, for his undying generosity.

"Oh, you're up," he smiles gloriously. "Perfect timing."

He carries a tray with him and sets it down.

"What's all this?" I motion at the tray of food he sets on my lap.

"Breakfast in bed," he grins.

My heart melts.

"You didn't have to do all this," I say.

"You always say that," he rolls his eyes. "Can you just let me spoil you?"

"Thank you," I say with gratitude.

I take in the assortment of jelly he has laid out for me to accompany my English muffin and buttered toast. Then there's the omelet, with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice to its side. It all looks very appealing.

"You made an omelet," I note.

"I did," he nods his head humbly.

It takes me back to when I made an omelet for us. Initially, I made two, but I clumsily dropped one so the two of us had to share one. It was also the first time Kendall ever had an omelet. Such a silly and simple thing, but it's one of the many memories I share with him that I'll forever cherish. And now he's returning the favor.

"You'll have to help me with all this food," I smile.

"Gladly," he winks.

We dig into the omelet. Kendall spreads some jelly over a piece of toast and holds it in front of my mouth. I sheepishly open my mouth but take the bite anyway. I realize that this is—and probably will be—the closest thing to a date for us. We share the orange juice, as well.

With Kendall's help, I finish the breakfast fairly quickly; well, most of it anyway.

"That was really good," I comment, impressed by his improved culinary skills.

"You mean it?" he asks slightly self-consciously.

"Yeah, I really do."

"Well, I guess that's what happens when I'm stuck at home. It's nothing but Food Network for me all day when you and your mom are gone," he shrugs.

I imagine Kendall sitting in front of the TV, studying the recipes seriously. The image in my mind makes me smile.

"Mom's gone, I'm assuming?" I inquire.

"You'd assume right. I heard her leaving a little after I woke up."

"All day to ourselves then?" I ask.

The thought of a full day with Kendall is more than I could hope for. Some people go to church on Sunday. My religion is Kendall. I can't imagine a better Sunday than to be with him.

"Looks like it," he smirks.

I set the breakfast tray on my nightstand, knocking down a few things, but I ignore it. My eyes remained fixated on Kendall.

"What ever will we do…?" I ask, arching a brow.

"I've got a few ideas…" he smiles wicked at me.

I immediately pull him down as I fall on my back. He positions himself over me and allows his hands to rest on the sides of my face. I feel his slender fingers calmly stroking my hair. I lean up and give him a tender kiss. He kisses me back and slowly our mouths mold together. Our breathing both come out harsh as our kissing becomes more urgent and passionate.

Suddenly, his lips move to my neck and then I feel his tongue dart out, coming into contact with my already-alert skin. Oh my… it feels… wonderful. My eyes close as I lose myself in the euphoria. I feel him gently nibbling on my earlobe, which feels sensational, too. His teeth gently graze against my skin and playfully tug my earlobe, which sends more jolts of electricity surging through my body.

I pull his t-shirt over his head. It's only fair since I'm still in nothing but my underwear. He allows this, so I resume kissing him. My hands move down south and I accidentally graze his defined erection, which causes my erection to throb. I undo the drawstring on his sweatpants, but his hands immediately grab mine.

"No," he shakes his head, as if scolding me.

My face probably looks hurt, but I also feel angry.

"Why not?" I plead, not understanding why he's so adamantly against us becoming more physically intimate.

Before I assumed he didn't like me, but he's said otherwise, so I don't get it.

"What's the rush?" he asks breathlessly.

"It feels… right," I state.

"Maybe to you, Logan. But, to me… it doesn't."

"Is it because I'm not your type?" I ask, sounding self-deprecatingly than I intended.

"You know that's not it. We've already gone through this, Logan. I don't want you to regret me as your first."

"What's there to regret? I want you. You want me. Seems pretty straightforward if you ask me."

"You don't know how much I want you, Logan…" he mumbles as he pulls away from me and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Then show me," I say to him.

"You have your whole life ahead of you," he says. "Don't waste it on someone like me."

"I don't see it like that. Kendall, look at me," I say, turning his chin so that he's facing me again. "There are so many things I'm unsure of, but you're not one of them."

"You're just not thinking," he suggests.

"No, you're wrong. My life has been nothing but uncertainties. I'll be graduating soon; prom is this weekend; I'll be leaving for college in the fall… there's so much happening that I'm afraid I'll lose a sense of myself. And I'll be eighteen in a few weeks. I want to feel and experience everything I can now before things change. And more importantly, I want to experience them with you. I already know that I can't be with for prom, so let me have _this_ experience, please…"

"Must you make this difficult?" he groans, burying his head into a pillow.

"I'm not the one making it difficult," I remind him. "It's you that doesn't seem like you're interested."

He looks up from the pillow and arches a brow.

"You have no idea the things I would do to you…" he says in a low growl.

My jaw practically unhinges upon hearing him say this.

"Like w-what…?" I gulp.

He pulls me and flips us over so quickly that he's somehow gotten on top without me even realizing it. His face is inches away from mine. I can feel his cool breath hit my skin.

"First, I would kiss you," he states before planting a kiss on my face. "Then, I would move down to your neck," he says and he does what he claims. "After that, I would kiss your smooth skin… like this."

He acts it out as he trails kisses down the line of my body. My eyes close as I revel in the softness of his lips upon my skin. He stops at my member, which happens to be fully hard now. I open my eyes and look down at him. He looks up and gives me a sly grin.

"Well… it wouldn't stop there if I had my way," he says.

I groan in frustration. I push myself back up until I'm sitting in his lap, looking at him face-to-face. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck for support.

"You really shouldn't tease, you know… It's hardly fair," I say.

"What makes it so unfair?" he hums into my neck.

"Because you clearly got that tortured and brooding appeal working in your favor. We mere mortals can't resist your charm."

"The same can be said about you," he says.

"Don't patronize, Kendall," I say giving him an eye roll.

"It's true. You really have no idea how magnetic you are… You're truly the most beautiful I've ever met—in every way possible," he comments.

Even after all this time, you would think I would stop blushing, but it's hard not to, especially when someone as one-of-a-kind as Kendall tells you something like that.

"See? This is what I mean," he says placing the back of his hand softly against my red cheeks. "Your modesty… your warm cheeks… your soft skin…" he says as his hands travel along my shoulder, "your big heart," he says placing his hand over my fluttering heart.

"Your heart is just as big," I observe.

He looks away as if deflecting the compliment before he gives me a soft sigh. Then, he crashes his body on top of mine and lets out a deep exhale. I kiss his cheek and run my thumb against his earlobe as we lay there—his face buried in the crook of my neck and my face gazing dreamily up at the ceiling.

"Tell me about your mom and sister," I inquire, keeping my eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"I've already told you about them," he replies.

"Well, tell me more. What did your mom do? What was Katie like as a student?"

He remains silent for a moment like he always does before he answers any personal questions. But he eventually speaks.

"My mom was a stay-at-home mom for a while. She later had to pick up a part-time job as a waitress in a diner. And Katie—as brilliant and cunning as she was—wasn't a very good student. I think it's because it wasn't not challenging enough for her, so she got bored."

"What kind of student were you?"

"Me? I wasn't a very good one either," he scoffs. "I was too busy cutting classes and sneaking off to smoke cigarettes."

"Why?"

"I honestly don't know. I guess it was because I knew it was the only time I could do it. My parents would kill me if they saw me smoking."

"You don't smoke anymore," I observe.

I recall the first evening he came into our home.

"_Mind if I smoke?_" he asked.

I replay the image of him standing there wet from the rain that evening, with a cigarette hanging from his lower lip. Even then he was intimidatingly captivating and incredibly beautiful.

"I have a confession," he frowns.

"You still do even after I asked you _not_ to?" I gasp.

"Not always!" he defends. "And certainly not recently, but the first few days here when you'd be at school I would pop the window up and smoke by it."

I groan, because he's an idiot for craving a cigarette so badly that he would even compromise his hiding to the police.

"You could have been seen," I say the obvious.

"I know, I know… I'm sorry. Forgive me?" he pouts, frowning and sticking out his bottom lip.

He really knows how to get his ways. He's definitely good at manipulating people if he chooses to. But I give in because he's too beautiful to stay mad at.

I kiss him, but give him a playful smack on the cheek.

"What was that for?" he whines.

"For being an idiot," I say sticking out my tongue.

"Fair enough," he grins.

"I'm just glad that you're slowly quitting," I acknowledge.

"Me, too. It's because you inspire me to be a better person," he adds.

His sincerity hits me with warmth and tenderness.

"Speaking of breaking habits, though; I've noticed you haven't written in your journal lately," he observes.

I look over at my journal and realize he's right. I haven't really thought about it until now, but I suppose I've been too preoccupied to even remember to write.

"That's because there isn't a need for it. Before it was a way for me to catalogue everything that I felt or experienced, because I didn't have anyone to talk to. Now I do," I say looking into his eyes.

"That's good. Now you can spare your poor journal of writing things like, 'James Diamond is _so_ dreamy' and 'I bet James Diamond is a great kisser'," he teases me in a high-pitched voice and bats his lashes to make fun of me.

I blush, because he's taken my exact—and private—words and mocking me with them, but I expect this from him by now, so I let it slide.

"Yeah, you won't be reading or hearing things like that from me anymore," I state.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"I guess I've found someone else more worthy of my time," I admit sheepishly.

But my words flatter him, because his eyes twinkle. They're mesmerizing, just like him. He's without a doubt the most fascinating person I've ever met. He kisses me. It's a long, impassioned kiss. It's the kind of kiss that you see in movies and read about in novels. It's everything we yearn for. It's everything_ I_ yearn for.

He holds me and we lie in bed for a little longer before we realize we should probably get up and do something productive. I still have a hamper full of dirty clothes that needs my attention.

I wash up and decide to clean the house. It's been neglected for far too long. Kendall helps me, of course. I pop some dirty clothes into the washer, while Kendall turns on some music. We clean and listen to music, and for the first time, I can actually say I enjoy cleaning! We almost look like a domesticated couple, Kendall and I. Almost.

"Hey, are you thirsty?" I ask Kendall after we've worked up a little bit of a sweat.

"Yeah… I certainly am," he smiles mischievously and licks his lips.

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant…" I blush. "I meant; do you want anything to drink?"

"Oh, my bad. Yeah, I'll take a soda," he says.

I go digging in the fridge but find we're out of sodas. In fact, we're out of pretty everything… again. It seems like having a third person in the house has an impact on our food inventory. I hope Mom isn't aware of this fact, or she may grow suspicious. I could always convince her that my teenage appetite is at fault, but then again, every time I've had a meal with her lately, I've done nothing but pick at my food.

"Hey, looks like we're out of drinks. I'll just run down to the convenience store around the corner and pick us up some sodas, though," I yell to Kendall who's currently jamming out some Journey in the living room.

"Yeah, that's fine," he nods and he resumes mouthing the words to the song and shaking his rear.

I can't help but smile at his goofiness. It's funny how much we've grown closer in the short time he's been here. I wish more than anything I could permanently make this his home.

I've fallen for him. There's no doubt about it.

I leave the house, and I see that the sun is tucked behind a large grey cloud. I see that the clouds are slowly converging. It looks like our sunny Sunday afternoon may turn into a rainy one. When will all this rain end?

I walk briskly down a couple of blocks. I cut through the some of my neighbors' yards to save time. Luckily, the convenience store isn't too far. At times I'd even stop by after school and pick up a snack or get a Slurpee on the way. But, as I cut around the corner of the street, I see a policeman at the Garcias' house at the end of the street. My eyes instinctively look back in the direction of our house. I immediately think if it was such a good idea to leave Kendall…

I quickly run into the convenience store and walk straight to the back. I pull open the freezer doors and pull out two bottles of soda—a Sprite for me, and an orange soda for Kendall, since it's his favorite. I head up to the register and make my purchase. My mind absentmindedly roams back to Kendall. Mr. Bitters, the store's owner, looks at me suspiciously as he always does, even though I've been there countless times before.

"Ahem," Mr. Bitters clears his throat.

I look up at his stern face as he taps on the register screen, with the total glaring back at me.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Bitters," I mumble as I pull out some change and pay him.

He bags the two sodas and I give him a small smile before I leave.

"Be careful out there, Logan," Mr. Bitters calls out to me.

I turn around and give him a confused look.

"The cops are everyone. You shouldn't be wandering around town on your own so much. That fugitive is still out there somewhere," he warns.

Mr. Bitters may seem cold and cantankerous most of the time, but I know underneath it all, he really does feel concerned about me. It's just ironic that everyone has been warning me to stay away from the one person I cannot keep myself from.

I give him another smile—this time more pleasant—and a small nod before I head out. The clouds have fully banded together now and the sky even grumbles in the distance. I quickly head home, to avoid the rain, but mostly to get back to Kendall. Something about Mr. Bitters' words scared me.

I cut through the neighbors' yard like I did earlier, but I instantly stop in my tracks when I nearly run into an officer.

"In hurry to go somewhere, son?" the officer asks me.

"No, officer. Just taking home some sodas," I say holding up my plastic bag.

He eyes me up and down, but there's nothing accusatory in his gaze.

"Have you seen this guy, son?" he asks, holding up a blurry photo of Kendall.

I guess they got hold of a surveillance photo of him at one point. It does more justice for him than that awful sketch they had on the news.

I'm now presented with two choices. I could easily tell the officer that the fugitive they've been looking for has been hiding in our home. This could be the last chance for me to clear my association with a fugitive—and protect my mom, too. Or I could continue to lie to everyone, and keep the person that I care for most from being taken away. I know I could never betray Kendall, but somehow the guilt seems to weigh on me.

"No, officer. I'm afraid I haven't," I finally say.

"Are you sure?" he asks again.

I'm not sure if he's just being thorough or suspects I'm lying. Luckily, it's not the county sheriff. This officer doesn't seem as bright as him.

"I'm sure," I nod confidently.

"Well if you see him, please contact us as soon as possible. Understood?"

"Of course, officer," I say as I'm about to leave. "May I ask what he's charged for?"

"It's disclosed to law enforcement only, son," he informs me.

It annoys me that he insists on calling me 'son'.

"If you do see him, do not try to apprehend him yourself. Call 911 immediately. Is that understood?"

I'm a little irritated that he's talking to me as if I were a small child, but I nod regardless.

"Well, I just don't believe the rumors…" I begin, attempting to be cunning. If I can't get him to tell me, then I'll just have to outsmart him.

"What rumors?"

"Just some rumors some of my classmates have been saying about him. I was shocked when they first told me. I mean, it isn't true, is it, officer? I don't think I could ever feel safe if it's true…"

"If you mean whether it's true that he—" But the officer catches himself and prevents himself from finishing. "Just keep an eye out, alright, son?"

Shit. So close… I honestly thought Officer Dumbass would spill the beans. I nod, and roll my eyes when he walks away. I need to find out though. I need to know what he's done… It's gone on for long enough. I head home, but then I stop and turn. I debate internally for a moment. I look down at the end of the street and I begin walking over there.

I stop in front of the Garcias' door. I immediately regret my decision, but before I can change my mind, the door opens.

"Hey," Carlos greets me.

"Hey," I smile with a blush.

"Uh, Logan, right?" Carlos asks.

"Yeah," I nod. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you and your family."

I stand there awkwardly with my bag of soda bottles still in tow. I hardly know Carlos. We share a few classes, but I never made an effort to get to know him thanks to my timid personality. All I know about Carlos is that he's a fairly good hockey player and sometimes can even be seen wearing his hockey helmet to class, much to the teachers' dismay.

"No, it's cool. I just heard footsteps. I assumed you were a cop coming back with more questions," he chuckles lightly.

"Yeah, I couldn't help but notice they were here earlier," I admit.

"Yeah, they keep patrolling the streets, which I guess is to help put us at ease, but it only seems to make everyone on the block more anxious—even my dad. And he's a cop!" Carlos laughs.

I laugh, too.

"Yeah, it doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?" I say.

"Between you and me, they're real assholes…" Carlos whispers.

The two of us laugh, and I decide that I like Carlos. I wish I took the time and got to know him better. We probably could have been good friends.

"Is your father searching for Kend—I mean, the fugitive—too?" I ask.

"Yeah, the whole police force is. They're convinced they've narrowed it down to him being in this neighborhood or possibly even hiding somewhere in the high school," Carlos informs.

"No wonder I've been seeing more security around campus lately," I comment.

"Yeah. I just hope it doesn't affect prom," Carlos sighs.

I must be the only one more concerned about a person's life than our prom.

"Hey, Carlos… Do they… Does your dad think he, the fugitive, that is… could be innocent?"

"I'm not sure. We don't really talk about it at home. I think Dad doesn't want to worry us, but it seems like they just want to take this guy into custody first. It's crazy that he's basically our age. But that doesn't excuse him for what he did," Carlos states.

"You think so?" I ask speculatively.

"Oh, yeah! Are you kidding me? I mean, after all, he killed a man."

My heart stops.

It can't be.

He didn't. He couldn't.

He couldn't harm anyone. I tell myself it's not true.

I can feel the color drain out of me. I suddenly feel sick.

"Are you all right?" Carlos asks.

"No, I got to go. Sorry that I took up your time," I say before I quickly walk off Carlos' porch.

"It's cool, man. Hey, I'll see you in school tomorrow," he waves.

I can't even find the courtesy to wave back, because my stomach is in knots. I clutch onto the bag until I can barely feel circulation in my hand. All this time, I've been living in denial. My subconscious knew it had to be something gravely serious, but I always ignored it. But now, there's no denying it. Kendall killed a man. And I've been kissing him and sleeping in the same bed as him.

I've been blinded.

He's a criminal. And I foolishly fell in love with him.

* * *

**Thoughts? Did everyone enjoy the cameos from Mr. Bitters and Carlos? Did you guess Kendall's crime correctly?**


	15. Criminal (Pt 2)

**A/N: So last chapter ended with us finding out Kendall's crime. A lot of you guessed it right, which is awesome! But, let me just say that Kendall's crime isn't what's surprising. That wasn't ever really my intent. It's not what Kendall did that's shocking—well, maybe a little for some—but that's not what I tried to build up to. It was always about Kendall's confession scene. Kendall's confession to Logan was one of the very scenes I wrote when I began this fanfic, and hopefully without overhyping it, it may be one of my favorite scenes I've ever written.**

**My goal in narrative stories is to make the readers feel. I want you be able to make you smile, laugh, cry, get angry, get excited. It's my main objective, so hopefully this story has achieved that so far!**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Run" by Snow Patrol

"Paper Kite" by Damien Jurado

"All Fall Down" by OneRepublic

**"Run" is perhaps one of my all-time favorite songs. It's so beautiful in such a simplistic way. It's honest and heartfelt. And I think it's so perfectly relatable to not just this chapter, but the story overall. It's about being in love with someone, but for whatever reason, it doesn't seem to work out, but their memory will always be a part of you. The cover by Leona Lewis is beautiful, as well, but there's just something very nostalgic about the original for me. I've listened to this song on repeat so many times that it's 'criminal'. (See what I did there?) ;)**

**For Kendall's confession scene, I chose "Paper Kite" because it has such an isolation to it that really haunts you. It's also a very beautiful song, so when I heard it, it felt perfect for the scene.**

**"All Fall Down" closes out the chapter, because not only is it a fantastic and overlooked OneRepublic song, but it fits and soundtracks the end very well.**

**Please review and share your thoughts! This is it guys. The moment you all have been waiting so patiently for. Without further ado, I give you "Criminal (Pt. 2)".**

* * *

I stand in front of the door to our house. I feel the bile rise in my throat, but I suppress it, as I do with the tears. I've been foolish for much too long. I've let my feelings interfere with my logic. I've jeopardize myself, my mom, and possibly the entire community's safety. I've been harboring a killer. It's sickens me. I feel the bile rise again, but I inhale and exhale deeply.

I unlock the door and walk into the house. The room is filled with music. I smell the air freshener lingering in the air, but it only makes me feel more nauseous. The house looks immaculate. He got a lot accomplished while I was away. But, it only makes me hate him more. He's simply playing me for a fool. All those times when I thought he did those sweet things; they were lies. It's all a façade. He played with my head. And then he played with my heart.

"Hey, what took you so long?" he smiles at me.

I can't even smile back. I can barely look him in the eyes. I need to confront him. I can't take the insincerity or the lies any longer. I need the truth whether he's willing to tell me or not. But, for now, I decide I need to play it safe; use my head and not my heart—my heart has only gotten me into trouble.

"They ran out of soda. I had to go to a gas station," I lie.

"They completely ran out?" he inquires, raising a suspicious brow.

He's questioning _me_? He has no right! I finally look up at him when the betrayal turns into full-on anger.

"Tell me the truth," I demand of him, throwing down the bag of sodas.

He looks at me with a baffled expression.

"Logan, I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Enough. No more games. Tell me what you did, because if you don't, I _will_ turn you into the police," I say through a set mouth.

His body stiffens and his eyes bulge a little. He is genuinely blind-sided. That makes the two of us.

He closes the gap between us and tries to calm me by touching me. I instantly flinch and jump away from him.

"Don't touch me!" I shriek.

I imagine his hands stained with blood. The nausea is overwhelming. I don't know how I've suppressed it this long.

"What the fuck, Logan… Where is all this coming from?"

"I should be the one with the questions. So tell me, why did you murder a man?" I ask him, finally looking at him coldly in the eyes.

His jaw unhinges. But he composes himself, because he's so good at that. He's so good at playing a part. He never loved me. He's only pretended to love me.

He remains silent. He looks away, as if he's ashamed. It's probably just another one of his acts. I hate him. But, more importantly, I hate myself for falling in love with him.

"I'm giving you one final chance… Tell me the truth or I'll report you. Why did you lie to me?" I ask angrily.

I can feel the tears begging to overflow, but I continue suppressing them. I don't want him to see that he has control over my emotions. I can't let him see my shame and humiliation.

"Because I knew how you'd react," he finally responds. "I knew you would pass judgment on me, just like everyone else in my life."

"People judge based on what they know," I counter.

He scoffs at me.

"No. Not know. What they see—what they _want_ to see. Everyone just sees me as this misfit… this criminal. That's what you see, am I right? Everyone is so quick to judge."

"What I see is someone who has invaded my house, has me lying to my mom, and has me assisting him in evading the police," I assert.

"I'm really sorry I made you lie to your mom," Kendall says.

This throws me off. He's apologetic for asking me to lie to my mom, but not the police. Kendall seems to worry more about my relationship with my mom than his own self-preservation. I can't help but feel sympathy for him again. Was this part of his act, though? He keeps on suckering me back into his web of lies.

"I know now it'll be even harder to earn your trust, but I'm not what you think. I'm not a bad person. I just made bad decisions," he adds.

"Well, I hate to break it to you but, decisions—good or bad—they stick."

"Evidently," Kendall says in a low voice. "You're not going to cut me any slack, are you?" he chuckles without humor.

"No," I say adamantly.

He looks at me with desperation. It's like my disappointment has cut him deeply. What does he expect? He wants me to cut him slack for killing a man?

"You don't understand," he says.

"You're right. I don't," I say bluntly.

"I did what I had to survive. Once you do what you have to, society will never let you escape that. They always remind you of it. They'll never allow you a second chance. They will always put you in your place—like they're above you," he rationalizes.

"I don't think I'm above you."

"Don't you?" Kendall accuses.

"Th-that's not fair…" I defend.

Kendall laughs darkly.

"'Not fair'? You live in a nice cozy home in the suburbs, protected by police and the neighborhood watch. Before you walked out that door, you and I were happy. And now you're turning on me… just like the rest of them. And you're talking to me about what's fair?"

"I've been lied to. You've lied to me," I remind him.

I refuse to let him antagonize me while he plays victim. If anyone is the victim, it's me.

"I haven't lied to you, Logan," he insists.

"Omitting the truth—especially one that big—is essentially lying," I rebuttal.

"I just knew you couldn't handle it if I told you."

"That's not for you to decide, Kendall! You intrude our home and I'm not allowed to know anything about the person I'm harboring in my own room?"

"You want to know? You really want to know the kind of monster that has been sleeping in your bed?" he asks through a tight jaw.

"I just want the truth."

He looks at me and then turns his head away as though he's too ashamed to tell me. For a brief moment, I think that it's been another futile attempt—that he'll never open up to me—but then he begins to speak, and instantly, I've never been more attentive, more curious, and more frightened than I am now…

"It's true," he begins.

"Oh god…" I exhale.

I feel the bile threatening again.

"I killed my father," he adds.

Other than a gasp, I remain silent. I'm completely lost for words. I just feel sick. I hold my stomach. It's too much… all this is too much.

"You should know there's more to it then the media will have you believe, Logan. My father was… well, let's just say my father wasn't a person I would ever want to bring you home to meet. He was a deadbeat; a slob. He was a bigot; a racist. He had a temper. He was a fucking drunk. The old man would go through liquor as if his life depended on it, all the while we watched him slowly killing himself… and basically destroying our family in the process.

My mom begged him for years to quit. He tried once or twice, without much luck," Kendall scoffs. "I think he just cared more for his booze than he ever did for any of us. He and mom would constantly get into these huge arguments over his drinking. I can recall all the nights that I had to run into Katie's room and shield her ears from listening to them scream. There were even a couple of times when their arguments turned into physical altercations. I remember the first time I heard my mom fall on the ground after the bastard hit her. I ran downstairs and tried to stop him. He was about to hit me, when Mom ran over and shielded me, taking his assault. I looked at my mom's bloody nose and then at that fucking asshole's smug face. She promised me it would be okay and to go back to Katie. That was the first time I ever wanted to kill someone," he says through a set jaw.

"But I did as she said and I ran upstairs and I held Katie as she eventually cried herself to sleep. Then, almost every night after that was a repeat—some sort of fucked up reoccurring nightmare. I listened to the shouting, and then my mom's crying, then her excuses for him the next day. It was always the same bullshit. She said he didn't mean it, that he was sorry, that he loved her… She couldn't see past how fucked up he really was. Maybe it was blind hope. Maybe she thought she could repair the family. But, I knew better. I knew the only way our family could be repaired was if we left my dad for good.

Finally, late one night the drunk bastard came home, waking up the entire family. He started screaming and slurring about how we were all disappointments to him. I yelled at him to get out. He didn't like that too much, I suppose. He hit me repeatedly until my mom came running and yelled at him to stop. He didn't stop until she hit him with something; I'm not sure what. But, it was enough to stop him; otherwise I probably would be dead. The drunk bastard held his bloody head and cursed as he stumbled out of the house. Mom cried as she held my beaten face. She apologized and begged for my forgiveness. That was the last straw for her. She finally came to her senses and knew we needed to get away from him. After that incident, she ran into our rooms and quickly packed as much of our things into two suitcases. I grabbed Katie and we got into the car and fled from Kansas. We chose Minnesota; why? I don't know.

Mom picked up a job as a waitress at a diner, like I mentioned. I picked up a part-time job as a cart boy at the local grocery store. We rented out a small single home. It wasn't great, but it actually felt like a real home. We had each other. While everything seemed perfect, I knew he was still out there. Every night, I feared that he would be standing over me in my sleep. But months went by and there were no signs of him. It almost felt like we could finally breathe. Almost.

One day, after school, I came home before Mom and Katie, which wasn't unusual. But, something in my veins told me something wasn't right. When I got into our living room, I was overcome with fear. I was paralyzed by it. There was only one person in the world that had that effect on me. After months of feeling that we had gotten away, I was proven wrong. He had found us.

He looked proud of himself for finding us after all that time. But, what was worse was he looked pissed. He looked vengeful. I knew that he wouldn't let us walk out on him a second time. Luckily, Mom and Katie weren't there. I prayed that whatever happened to me that at the very least Mom and Katie wouldn't be hurt by that monster. He told me to sit down. When I refused, he pulled a gun from behind him. I remember thinking that I would die that day. I complied and sat down. He sat down, as well, as he began ranting about what a piece of shit family we were and that he regretted ever having us. I listened through gritted teeth, and waited until I could get the chance to escape. I could smell the alcohol on the son of bitch. He hadn't changed one bit.

'You're like your whore mother,' he said. 'Fucking useless and ungrateful little shit. Someone needs to teach you a lesson. You and that shit sister of yours,' he said. That's what sent me over the edge; when he talked about Katie. I couldn't bear the image of him laying a finger on her. Something snapped inside of me and I lunged at him as he drunkenly ranted. I tackled him to the ground, but he overtook me. I remember feeling bits of shattered glass around us from the coffee table we slammed into. He was then on top of me and hit me with the blunt end of the gun. He choked me as I coughed on my own blood. I somehow managed to grab a hold of a vase and smashed it over his head. My vision was blurred and my head was spinning. I remember seeing him stumble towards me. I reached for the gun and held it out. My hands were shaking so badly… I warned him to stay back. He charged at me and tackled me back to the floor. Somehow, I managed to still possess the gun in my hand. I elbowed him in the eye socket with all the strength I had. He lied there groaning as he held his bloodied eye.

I pointed the gun down at the son of a bitch. I hated him. I hated him with every fiber of my being. But what's worse was that I feared him. I knew that no matter how much we tried to run, how much we attempted to hide, it would never be over; he would find us… So I pulled the trigger. The gun went off and suddenly the room fell silent. The gun remained in my hand, as if I didn't register what had happened. And maybe I didn't. It happened so fast and nothing felt real. It all felt like a nightmare, one in which I simply couldn't wake up from.

When it finally hit me—when I realized that I had killed my father—I dropped the gun. I was scared shitless. I didn't know what to tell Mom. She would never look at me the same. She could never understand that I did what I did to protect us. So I ran. I ran when I probably should have called the police and told them the truth, but I wasn't thinking straight. All I could think of was the blood on my hands. I ran for days. I didn't eat. And the only thing I drank was the leaking water from a garden hose in someone's backyard. I figured by then the cops would be looking for me. I couldn't even allow myself to think of what I put my mom and Katie through. There was even a moment when I was so depressed and so fatigued that I even considered turning myself in. But just when I was about to give up, because I had lost all of my strength, I stumbled into the woods behind this neighborhood. I hid there until the rain came, which gave me enough coverage to run and find some hiding. And that's when I broke through your bedroom window.

And now here we are. I'm not proud of what I did. I see his face everywhere I go; I see in it everything I touch. The only time it goes away is when I'm with you… I need you more than you could ever know, Logan. But now you know my dark secret. Now you know what kind of monster you want to be with."

I look at the blonde beauty standing in front of me, looking more tortured and haunted than anyone I've ever known. I see for the first time tears running down his face. His green eyes look heartbreaking sad. I touch my own face I feel that it's wet. Am I… crying? I swipe my finger underneath my eye and feel the tears cascading.

Suddenly, all the anger that was there moments earlier has completely washed out of me—to be only replaced with sympathy, anguish, and worry for him. He's being mistaken as a murderer when he's only guilty of protecting the people he loves most. I gravely misjudged his intention.

I can't help but look at the handsome teen in front of me—a boy full of loneliness and isolation. A boy that is misunderstood. I know that look. It's the same look I saw every day in the mirror before I met him. Maybe he and I aren't so different after all.

"I'm so sorry," I say to him through a broken voice.

And I truly am. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I wrongfully misjudged him; I'm sorry that he lived with a monster; I'm sorry that he gave up his family; I'm sorry that society thinks he's a monster, as well.

"Don't be sorry. Just don't stop loving me," he pleads.

What a fool. Doesn't he realize I could never stop loving him?

"We have to get you out of here," I say.

Even though they were my own, the words feel as though they've sliced through my chest, because as soon as they come out, I know I have to keep my promise and follow through.

"W-what do you mean?"

"You have to leave right now, otherwise you'll be caught."

"Logan, slow down… You're not thinking clearly. You're just scared right now."

"No, you don't understand. The cops are everywhere! They're closing in. If you stay here any longer, they _will_ find you."

"Logan… I can't leave you…"

"We no longer have that choice," I say through a shaky voice. "If we want to have any hope of getting you to freedom, then you'll have to leave now."

"Logan, I'm not sure I can leave you. Not just now, but… ever."

Doesn't he realize this is just as hard for me?

"Don't be a fool. Don't sacrifice everything for me," I say through sobs.

"Why not…? You've sacrificed everything for me."

It hits me. His words hit me and I'm overwhelmed by how someone as beautiful as him has to suffer. There's nothing I wouldn't do for this foolish, but beautiful boy. I feel the tears threatening to spill over again, but I control them, because I won't allow myself to make this any harder for either one of us.

"Just trust me… please," I plead with him.

He gives me a sorrowful nod. I then pull an old backpack from the closet. I quickly shove handfuls of clothes into the backpack for him. I know we have to move quickly. I can sense the cops closing in on his location this very moment. I dig through my drawer and pull out all the money I have left. It's not a lot, but it's enough to get him through for a while if he stretches his dollar. I only wish I could send him off with more money in tow. But Kendall grabs my wrist when I put the money in his getaway pack.

"No, Logan! I'm not taking your money," he protests.

"Don't be stupid, Kendall. You'll need this. I don't," I counter.

I look at him with a stubborn stare. He knows I won't back down, so he releases my wrist. I tuck the money in the front pouch and zip it up.

"Here, put this on," I order him, throwing him a dark-colored hoodie.

I run towards the kitchen in frenzy as Kendall chases behind me, slipping the hoodie over his head. I impatiently push things around in the pantry, until I find some dinner rolls and pastries. I toss them into the pack. I also throw in some water bottles and find some apples, which I toss into the pack, as well.

"Logan, you don't have to do—"

"Shut up," I say bluntly as I continue to pack the backpack to full capacity.

He does as I request and remains silent. I suddenly feel his hand run up my back. I freeze. I turn around and look at him. He looks so sad, yet grateful at the same time. He's devastatingly handsome in the moment, because he looks so fragile… so human.

"Please don't make this any harder for me, Kendall," I beg of him.

"I'm not trying to. But, you have to know that you truly are the most amazing person I've ever met," he says.

I wrap my arms tightly around him and bury my head into his chest. Love can be the greatest thing. But, it can also be the cruelest, too. To have and not to hold; it doesn't get much crueler than that. So I hold him as long as I can, because it may literally be our last. I hold him tightly, and he holds me tightly, until we hear police dogs barking in the distance.

"We have to get moving," I urge him.

"We can't go through the front door," he says.

"Go through my bedroom window."

We run to the back of the house with the getaway pack in tow. I peak through my window to make sure it's not swarmed with cops. Luckily, it's not. We lift the window up, and I climb through first. I'm immediately greeted by the rain. My feet slightly sink into the muddy ground. I check and see the coast is clear, and signal Kendall to climb through, as well.

I duck low and I'm thankful for the rain. It's a huge ally in our getaway. Luckily, the back of our house faces a wooded area—the same woods Kendall said he hid in for some time. Once we get to the wooded area, I know he'll be able to slip pass the county line fairly easily. And the cops would have to go on foot to search for him, instead of the cruisers, which would slow them down considerably. We continue to run deep into the wooded area. Surprisingly, the water level of the creek is still low enough even with the downpour that we're able to walk through it without much difficulty.

"Do you think you can continue down this way without me?" I ask when we stop by a tree to conceal ourselves and catch our breaths.

"I recognize this part," he nods.

"Then, I guess this is where we part ways," I say through a broken voice.

He looks at me with sad eyes. It shatters everything inside of me.

"Come with me," he pleads.

"You know I can't. As much as it kills me to not have you, you and I both know I can't," I say through my tears.

He looks at me, and I can see the doubt he has in his eyes. He is thinking about possibly risking his safety just to stay with me longer. But, I know he would be making the wrong choice if he stays. I can't let him make that mistake.

So I kiss him hard. I kiss him as the rain pours on us. It's the greatest thing and the most tragic thing, both at once. It's my only way of saying good-bye to him, without actually saying the word.

"I love you," I say through a breathless voice.

"You've never told me you love me before," he declares.

"Well, I do," I reveal.

"I love you, too, Logan. I could never forget you. Don't forget me."

"How could I?"

And with that, he pulls me in for another hard kiss. I could stay frozen in that moment with him forever. And even then, forever would not suffice. But, I hear distant sounds of police dogs barking ferociously again, so I pull away and tell him to run.

He looks at me with hesitation, but I give him an assuring nod. He nods with what appears to be tears in his eyes. It's hard to tell whether they're tears or just the rain, but before I can distinguish them, he slowly fades into the background and then he runs off. I stand there motionless in the pouring rain. A part of me hopes that he'll foolishly run back into my arms again, but I know that could never happen. I single-handedly sent the love of my life free.

As I standing in the cold May rain, I imagine the Kendall in my dream from this morning. I see him smiling and happy, standing in the endless golden corn fields of Kansas, as the sun warms his skin. I smile at the bittersweet thought. But somehow through the triumph, there seems to be a personal loss. I walk home in the rain feeling victorious, but emptier than I've ever felt.

I return home, feeling defeated. I go into my bathroom and dry myself off with a towel. I look into the mirror and see the puffiness under my eyes from all the crying. A part of me wants to cry some more, but I feel so numb that I can't even produce any tears right now. It's like the reality has yet to hit me.

Then, suddenly I hear a knock at the front door. My instincts cry out, hoping it's Kendall. I imagine running and opening the door and seeing his beautiful face looking back at me. But, of course when I open the door, it's not him.

"Good evening," the sheriff greets me.

My heart stops and my breath is stripped from me.

"Sheriff," I greet him with a single nod.

"We're terribly sorry to trouble you, sir, but may we search the house, if that's not too much trouble? We're asking for everyone's compliance in the matter," the sheriff says.

He's asking, but it almost sounds like a demand.

"Does this have anything to do with the fugitive?" I ask, playing dumb.

"As a matter of fact, it does. It won't take long, I promise," he smiles insincerely.

I decide then and there that I hate the man.

"If you want, I could go get a warrant," he begins.

"Go ahead," I say, opening the door as wide as possible for him.

I no longer have anything to hide.

He nods and smiles at how compliant I am. He's probably used to getting his way with people. He steps in dripping from the rain. He takes off his sheriff hat and shakes off the excess water, before placing it down on a table in our hallway. He scans the living and peaks into the kitchen, as well as the laundry room. He wraps back around and checks the guest bathroom, then goes into Mom's room. He thoroughly checks under the bed, the closet and her bathroom. Finally, he stands outside my bedroom door.

"Your room?" he points.

I simply nod. He gives me another insincere smile and opens my door. He roams through it, inspecting everything. He opens the closet and pulls back my rack of hanging clothes. He looks dissatisfied.

"As you can see, sheriff, there's no one here," I state.

He looks at me, as if he's angry and defeated. I suspect that he believed Kendall was staying in one of these homes. If he had arrived earlier today, his suspicions would have been true and Kendall would've been in handcuffs. I'm so glad that I convinced Kendall to run when he had the chance.

I walk the disappointed sheriff out. He turns around before he's completely out the door.

"Call me if you know if anything, yes?" he says.

"I already told you, sheriff. I don't know anything."

He gives me a patronizing smile, takes his hat, and places it back on his head before he walks out again into the rain.

I close the door and sigh from relief. But through the small moment of relief, my heart slowly crushes in on itself as the realization hits me: Kendall is no longer here.


	16. Dream

**A/N: Did you all enjoy last chapter? It killed me to keep it from you guys for that long, especially since it was written months ago! But now that the big mystery surrounding Kendall's past is cleared, we can continue to move on with the story. Originally, the story ended last chapter, after Logan sent Kendall out into the woods and we're left to assume that Kendall is free. But, the main issue I had with that ending was that the romance with Kendall and Logan was left incomplete or never came to full fruition, which didn't seem right since this isn't a mystery-with-romance kind of story; it has always been about the romance before any other genre, so I basically had to come up with a different ending (which by the way, if you guys have been reading this fanfic since the beginning, part of the story's ending is strongly hinted in the first chapter).**

**My other issue with the original ending was that we're only left to _assume_ that Kendall's safe, but in reality if he's running from the law, he'll never truly be safe. I wanted to give all the character's story arcs a more definitive end, whether it be good or bad, I needed it to have a sense of closure, which the original ending lacked. So basically I had to rework the story's ending from the start of conception (which a lot of you know by now that I _never_ begin a story unless I have a very clear ending in mind). Anyway, I don't know why I felt it necessary to go into all that depth, but I just thought I'd share that little tidbit!**

**As for this chapter, I will only say… enjoy! ;)**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are: **

"Calm Me Down" by Port O'Brien

"Fade Into You" by Mazzy Star

"Wonderful Life" by Black

**For the opening song, I actually changed it about half a dozen times, not because I couldn't decide on one, but simply because they're were so many great songs to choose from! But eventually I settled on Port O'Brien's "Calm Me Down", because lyrically it fits, but also because I can imagine it being a song Logan's character would listen to after he loses Kendall.**

**"Fade Into You", I think, is a very beautifully sung and arranged song, and it's been a song that I've wanted to use for some time now. I just wanted to use it in the right chapter, and I think it really works here. It's gentle but has a great lift in the chorus. There are people who claim it's written about a heroin addict, but I just like to pretend it's about a love song. ;)**

**I chose "Wonderful Life" as the closing song, because it has an uplifting spirit with shades of sadness to it. It's an older song, but a good one nonetheless, and it's definitely a bittersweet song, which always seems like it's the case for our characters. Even when they get through a rough spot, it's never smooth sailing for them. But the song also has a very melodic and classic quality that I've always appreciated and I think it suits Logan's dream sequence very well.**

**Please review and share your thoughts as always. I present you guys with chapter 16, "Dream".**

* * *

I lock my bedroom door, even though I know no one will be coming in—certainly not Kendall. I suppose I just want to lock myself from the rest of the world—metaphorically and literally. I crawl into bed, even though my body is still partially wet from the rain. I can barely muster enough energy to bother covering myself up with the sheets. I curl body into a fetal position as the reality sinks in. I've lost Kendall. No, I didn't lose him—I set him free. As free as he could be, I suppose. I let the single greatest thing to come into my life go, and the worst part is I can only hope all of it won't be in vain. After all, I don't know for sure my sacrifice will grant him complete safety. I've just given him a chance; a temporary delay of the inevitable. Eventually he will either be caught or he'll be so exhausted from running that he'll simply turn himself in. I feel sick at the thought of him being arrested, while I have no control or do anything to prevent it at this point.

_He's safe for today_, I quietly remind myself. I try to repeat this mantra to keep myself hopeful and optimistic. I want more than anything to know that I sent him off to his freedom… not his doom.

I clench my fist against my chest. I feel hollowness in my chest and the pit of my stomach. I feel like a fading apparition without Kendall. Who am I without him? His presence in my life gave me purpose, gave me reason. But then I think of what Kendall would say to me if he were here. He would tell me I don't see myself nor appreciate myself enough. He would tell me I'm beautiful and an individual. He would remind me that I need to love myself and to stay strong. He's instilled a strength and fight in me that I never knew I could possess; it's another example of how much he has changed my life for the better.

The rain continues to pound against my bedroom window. I lie in the dark room and wrap my arms around my body to keep myself from falling apart. I think of Kendall. I think of everything that we shared and I think of all the things we didn't get to experience; all the missed opportunities. I imagine what our life could have looked like together. I know it's no longer a possibility, but the fantasy gives me hope—even if it's a false one. A tear trickles down my face. I promised myself I wouldn't fall apart, but I miss him… I miss him so much. The emotions overwhelm and I'm suddenly sobbing profusely. I cry and cry until I no longer have the energy left and eventually my eyes close, much to my dismay because I know if I fall asleep now, I'll only have dreams of Kendall. But, I suppose I should be thankful, because that is the only way I'll ever see his beautiful face again.

I dream of when I first met Kendall. I can even hear the rain, just like when we first met. But my mind alters our first encounter. Instead of me being afraid of him, this time I welcome him with open arms. He holds me and we're happy again, like when we were together. I continue having dreams of that first encounter with Kendall, and in each dream my mind comes up with various ways of how I could have spent time with Kendall, instead of wasting it by being suspicious and afraid of him. The dreams feel vivid, as if he's still here, only I know he's probably miles away from here by now.

In the current dream, I hear a tapping against my window. I can't see who it is, because of the heavy rain. The figure is just a blur, but I know that I could only be dreaming of Kendall—he's the only person that has invaded my mind to that degree. I go and open the window, and instantly I'm greeted with a cool breeze of Spring air, as well as the pouring May rain. The hooded figure quickly climbs into my bedroom and he's drenched from head to toe. He pulls back his hood, and I see Kendall's face. I'm instantly in love again, although I never fell out of love with him.

"I couldn't do it… I couldn't leave you," Dream Kendall tells me.

I touch his beautiful face and it feels so real. Everything feels so vivid. I can even get a hint of his scent that I always found so intoxicating. But I know my mind is simply playing tricks on me.

"You're not real," I say to Dream Kendall, but mostly I say it for my own benefit.

I try to convince myself to wake up, because this is torture. I don't want to keep dreaming of him only for me to wake up and find that he's not there. It will only make it that much harder to put myself back together when the dream is over.

"Logan, it's me," Dream Kendall tries to convince me.

I shake my head in protest as I take a few steps back. Tears threaten to spill over again—I simply can't keep going through all this heartache.

"No, no you're gone… You can't be here," I say through sobs.

But then he moves towards me, pulls me in, and kisses me hard. I feel his tongue find mine and I can even taste him. It feels real, too real… I pull back and look at Dream Kendall. It's all too confusing, because he looks and feels real enough, but there's no way it could be him. But then I look into his eyes, and there's a familiarity there… There's a certain twinkle in those green gems, but a hint of sadness that even in dream I could never come up with. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.

I'm not dreaming… It's him. It's really him.

Upon realizing this, various emotions immediately course through me as my body lunges forward. I crash my body against his and embrace him tightly. He pulls me in, and instantly his lips find mine again. My mouth parts and I welcome him, all of him. The feeling of his tongue in my mouth is sublime.

I briefly pull back, because I'm still too shocked that he's really here.

"H-how?" I stutter as the emotions pour out of me.

"I told you. I couldn't leave you, Logan," he says before he pulls me back in for another hard and urgent kiss.

And then, there are no words left to say. No words can convey how much I feel for him. I need for him to know in my touch, in my kiss, in my heart.

Our bodies move almost as one towards the bed. My mouth never leaves his. Our bodies fall and crash onto my bed. I feel his wet hard body against mine. He moves down and his hands slide my shirt up as he begins showering my body with kisses. The feeling is exquisite… I've missed his touch, I've missed his lips. I yearn for it, I crave for it, I _need_ it. His trail of kisses moves up my body until I feel his wet tongue swirl around my nipple. I arch my back, burying my head deeper into the pillow as I let out a heavy moan. He pulls my shirt over my head and plants a tender kiss on my lips.

He kisses my neck and grazes my skin with his teeth. My eyes close as I absorb all the pleasure. He kisses my mouth a little more roughly this time as I pull at the hem of his wet shirt and slide it over his disheveled hair. Water from the ends of his hair drip down onto my skin, sending a delicious shiver to run through my body.

My hands then move over his jeans. I run them up his crotch and very evident bulge. He moans when my hands come in contact with him. I hastily undo the button and zipper on his jeans. I pull them down and he kicks them off, taking off his underwear in the process, too. I sucked in a breath upon seeing Kendall's erection. I also blush, but that's almost expected from me by now. It's surreal seeing Kendall this… exposed. He barely let me know any intimate details about him before, and here he is now, being very, very intimate.

I hear his breathing come out unevenly as he begins undressing the rest of me. His cool breath hits my skin, soothing the searing heat radiating throughout my body. He carefully and tentatively removes my pants. He stops midway and gazes up at me, as if asking for permission to disrobe me. I bite my lower lip and give him an assured nod. He smiles beautifully at me and pulls my pants off all the way.

I lie naked and exposed in front of him. I thought I would reach for the closest sheet and prudishly cover my body. But, with Kendall, I'm not afraid to be vulnerable anymore. I've learned that we're at our strongest when we're honest and open with each other. I want to know him intimately, so I have to allow the same.

"You're beautiful," he says.

I reach my hand out and he takes it. I gently pull him back down to me. He lies on top and I feel his glorious body weigh down on me. His lids are low, making him look dreamy. But even though his eyes are partially shielded, his green eyes still somehow shine through. And those lips! They look so plump and soft, practically begging to be kissed. He looks beyond gorgeous. Everyone else simply pales in comparison, including James Diamond.

His hand skims down my body, causing me to tremble from the sheer arousal of his gentle touch. His fingers graze against my hard-on, which causes me to tighten my stomach. I run my hands on the sides of his torso and then to where he's the most firm.

His lips twitch when my hand touches his member. I briefly retract my hand thinking I've hurt him, but his face looks euphoric and relaxed, so I bring my hand back to his erection. I gently stroke his shaft and I hear a deep low moan from him. He returns the gesture, which causes me to throb wildly. His warm hand and strong grip feels sensational.

He comes face to face with me, leans down, and softly brushes his lips against mine. It's gentle, yet not tentative; leisurely, but not casual; almost chaste, but far from innocent. His eyes say everything. They gaze at me adoringly and appreciatively—like me, he doesn't just want to have sex, he wants to make love. We've been building up to this point. I feel it, and I know he does, too. The desire is palpable between us.

He takes hold of his firm member and lines it at my opening. I swallow hard, slightly nervous, but wanting to feel all of him.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks me before we proceed.

"I've never been more sure than I am now," I breathe.

"I love you, Logan," he says to me.

"I love you."

And with that, he eases into me. My mouth gapes open as I take in his fullness. It stretches my body and I have to grip onto his shoulder and back to endure the new sensation. It's not necessarily painful, maybe just slightly uncomfortable, but I allow my body to adjust to the foreign feeling.

"Are you okay?" he worries.

I give him a quick nod and he plants a small kiss on my lips, before he pushes deeper into me. He pulls out just as slowly as he pushed himself in. Instantly, I want him back in me. I miss him already. But soon enough he pushes his erection back into me and a low growl escapes his mouth. I capture his growl in my mouth as I give him a deep kiss. He tastes delicious, which only makes my mouth crave for him even more.

He continues to push into me with slow, deep, long strokes. I moan as the discomfort manifests into pleasure. My body feels electrified; it tingles and cries, feeling more alive than ever before. The heat emanates throughout my system and every cell feels like it's about to explode from delight. Kendall's movements become quicker, yet still remaining passionate and tender. We adopt a beautifully synchronized rhythm. Our two bodies feel as though they're completing one another, needing one another, communicating to one another without the use of words… being as one.

He thrusts passionately into me repeatedly. I feel his fullness over and over as he simultaneously continues to kiss me… It's deliriously hot and sexy. I've never felt anything like this before, but I can't imagine it gets much better than this. His brows furrow as he charges his body against mine. My hands roam all over his back, with one of them moving south. I cup his rear and pull him deeper into me. He hits my sweet spot and an involuntary moan escapes my mouth. Kendall uses this as a cue to continue probing that very same spot continuously; and he's rewarded with a blissful moan from me each time. He quickly takes us higher and higher. I feel as though I may fall right out of the heavens if we continue like this.

I kiss his neck while he buries his face into the crook of my neck. I feel his sweaty body slick against mine as we climb closer and closer to a new high. He raises his head and rests his forehead on mine.

"I'm close. Are you?" he asks breathlessly.

I'm left to a simple nod as my mouth hangs open from the incredible pleasure he's delivering me. And then, he begins to thrust into me with more vigor than even before. His rock hard member drives in and out of me with such precision that all my senses practically scream at the same time.

I feel it… I feel myself arriving closer to that finish line. He's sending me to the edge of a free-fall. His body pushes against mine over and over, and with a strong and final trust from him I feel both our bodies tense as we climax in unison. The two of us erupt like geysers, sending our love all over each other. My loud litany crescendos with his, and we ride our wave of pleasure together. My body racks with pure delight as every cell in my body awakens. I have to grip on to the sheets to prevent my body from flailing in ecstasy. I feel lighter than air; I feel complete, perfect, harmoniously his.

As my climax slowly subsides, I still feel his erection firmly embedded inside my body. Feeling his physical form of attraction for me—literally inside of me—feels sublime. It's as though he can't get enough of me. I certainly can't get enough of him.

He falls to his side, but he pulls me in and kisses my damp forehead. I nuzzle up against his chest. I caress his slick skin, tracing the outline of his sugar skull tattoo. I look up at him and admire his beauty. I'm unsure if it's because we just made love, but he has a particular glow about him. He smiles warmly at me and tilts his head down for a long lazy kiss. It's one of those perfectly beautiful open mouth kisses.

"You're really here, right? I'm not just dreaming?"

"If you dreamt us making love like _that_, then you have some very intense dreams," he jokes.

He does have a point though.

"If you still don't believe I'm really here, I could always pinch or poke you," he teasingly suggests.

"You may have to, because it would be a nightmare to wake up and you're not really in my bed," I say.

He playfully pinches, and I squirm.

"I would poke you, but, hey, I think I already poked you enough today," he grins devilishly.

Yeah, I'm definitely not dream. And that's pure Kendall wit. I could never dream him up to be that dry or witty.

"You're so crass," I chuckle.

"That was really incredible, though," he moans.

"I agree," I smile.

"So, you don't… you don't regret me being your first?" he asks more seriously.

"No… of course not, Kendall. If anything, it affirmed for me that I wanted you to be my first… my last… my only," I confess.

I feel sheepish for being so sentimental and borderline saccharine. We made love, and I now know with certainty that I don't want anyone else but Kendall, but I'm not sure he feels that same way for me. Will he grow bored with me? Will he one day fall out of love with me?

"You're the only I want, too, Logan," he says, as if he timed it with my thoughts. "And I'll never leave you again."

"Well, I don't think they'll be looking for you here anymore," I say.

"What do you mean?" he asks with furrowed brows.

"Right after you left, the county sheriff searched all the homes on this street. He didn't find any evidence of you being here, so I think you should be safe from them for a while."

"They won't stop looking for me," he states.

"No, they won't. But they've come up short, so they'll probably search elsewhere for now."

"For now," he repeats.

"Yes; so can we just be like this—in each other's arms—for now, as well?" I ask, wrapping my arms around him.

"We can stay like this as long as you want."

"Forever then?"

"Forever," he says. "I love you, Logan."

"I love you… so much," I say, before I plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

We lie there in our post-coital bliss as we listen to the rumbling thunder and rhythmic rain drum outside the window. Everything is beautiful when you're in love. It makes everything more immediate, more fragile, more precious, yet more visceral, more tangible, more effortless.

Kendall strokes my hair as I continue to caress his skin. I just want to lie here with him forever, if that's at all possible. We wouldn't dare take each other for granted, especially given the circumstances. We may have thrown law enforcements off our trail temporarily, but it's just that—temporary. They won't stop searching for Kendall until he's found. The two of us may be happy in love, but that doesn't change the reality. In the eyes of the law, Kendall committed a crime. Had he maybe stayed and explained himself then maybe he would have been deemed innocent and could have been acquitted, but then I also would have never met him. I can't help but think about pre-destined fate. Was Kendall meant to come into my life? Or maybe I was meant to come into his?

I have so much on my mind, but for now, I simply want to enjoy my fleeting time with Kendall. I allow the pattering of rain to quell my restless thoughts. I allow the exhaustion to pull me under and soon I drift to sleep in my lover's arms. That night, I sleep better than I have in a long time, maybe it's because I know that I'm in the comfort of Kendall's warm embrace.

I dream of Kendall in the golden corn fields again. They're endless just like the blue sky. Everything about the dream is the same. But there is one noticeable difference this time. This time, Kendall's not standing in the Kansas fields alone. I watch him from afar holding the hands of someone, looking lovingly into that lucky person's eyes. I assume maybe it's his ex-girlfriend, Lucy. Or perhaps even his mom.

My feet move closer, controlled by the curiosity. As I approach them, I'm stopped in my tracks to find that the person Kendall's with is… me. In third-person, I see the two of us holding hands and smiling. We're happy. We're together. I know I'm dreaming, because the sky is too blue, the sun is too warm, the fields are too vast, too golden. It's too picturesque to be reality, but my heart swells at the image of Kendall and me. We've made it—even if it's simply in dream. We overcame our obstacles and we're together. I look at Dream Kendall and Dream Me; we're perfection. I couldn't envision a happier couple even if I tried.

They see me standing there watching them. At first, I'm unsure if this means I've ruined their intimate little moment together, but they look at me and smile. Dream Me gives me a satisfied nod, as if to say thank you. For what, I don't know, but I simply smile and nod back.

I walk away and let them enjoy their time together, because for the first time I can rest assure in knowing that Kendall doesn't have to endure this past alone. And I don't have to worry about living a future alone, either. We've came into each other's lives for a greater purpose. We no longer have to be alone, because we now have each other.

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**First Kogan love scene even though it took us 16 chapters to get to lol. Please share your thoughts and what do you think Logan's dream meant?**


	17. What's In A Name?

**A/N: Sorry about not posting a new chapter last week; work has been killer! But, I LOVE that you guys are so positive about this story. Your kind words and positivity are really the fuel for my motivation to continue writing! Sometimes I'm too tired to write, but after reading all your great reviews and the PMs, it just lifts my spirit and gives me that spark of creativity! You all truly inspire me! :)**

**The songs that inspired this chapter are:**

"Islands" by Hey Ocean!

"Cover Your Tracks" by Young Galaxy

**I chose "Islands" as the opening song because I think it has a very soothing and easy quality about it, which sort of plays well with Logan's mood in this chapter. He's experiencing the morning after glow from making love with Kendall, so I wanted something very calm and melodic.**

**For the closing song, I wanted something that was mid-tempo, but also somewhat sexy and alluring, which I think "Cover Your Tracks" fits nicely.**

**I named this chapter, "What's In A Name?" after the famous Shakespeare quote. It ties in with the story and I like it because a lot of it has to deal with self-identity and also acceptance of others.**

**Please review as always to give me that motivation! Enjoy**!

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I feel warmth beaming down onto my eyelids. I can only assume it's the sun. My eyes lazily and slowly open, which are instantly greeted by a stream of sunlight filtered through my blinds. The seemingly endless rain must have finally stopped sometime last night.

I look up at Kendall, who is still asleep. He still has his arms wrapped securely around me, but his lids are gently closed. They aren't tightly closed as though he's having a nightmare. His lips slightly part as his breathing causes his chest to slowly rise and fall. He looks serene, peaceful, innocent even. It reminds me that he's just as human and fragile as the rest of us. There's nothing I wouldn't do to protect him.

I inhale deeply and breathe in Kendall's intoxicating scent that lingers in the air. There's something slightly different about his scent today though. I then realize it's both of our scents lingering and mixing. The smell of our lovemaking perfumes the air. Our bodies together have developed an entirely new aroma. It's beautiful and soothing. It's solely ours.

Last night comes to mind. I recall the way he touched me; how soft and tender he was, yet there was an edge of urgency, desire, and abandon. He needed me as much as I physically and emotionally needed him. I think of the way his soft lips marked kisses all over my body. I picture how beautiful his face looked when we had finally joined as one. I imagine how our bodies rocked together in a wonderful rhythm. It was the first time I truly felt I belonged with another human being. Kendall and I are meant together. We fit together perfectly.

I love that he held me as we fell asleep—and he's still holding me now. I carefully crane my head over to look past Kendall and notice that it's about time for me to get ready for school. I groan quietly to myself. How I hate Mondays… and how I hate Mondays now that I have Kendall in my life. All I want is to lie in bed with him. I can't imagine ever getting tired of looking at him.

I finally will myself to get out of bed. I lift the sheets and see our naked bodies intertwined. I blush upon seeing Kendall's exposed body, as well as mine pressed against his. There's no use in being bashful at this point. After all, last night we became more intimate with each other than I could have ever imagined, but it's still mind-boggling to think I had my first sexual experience with Kendall. He still feels like a dream I never knew I wanted until he came into my life.

I slowly shimmy myself from Kendall's embrace, trying not to wake him in the process. But it's a futile attempt, because he immediately feels my absence and his eyes lazily open.

"Hey, where you going?" he asks huskily stretching his arm out and pulling me back in.

My body presses tightly against his again. God he smells fantastic…

"It's Monday. I have school," I remind him as I stroke the tips of my fingers along his neck.

"Skip it. Stay with me," he suggests as he runs his nose along my jawline.

He doesn't realize how difficult it is for me to choose school over being here with him.

"Believe me, Kendall… I'm _very_ tempted," I say.

"Yeah?" he smiles wickedly. "How can I make it impossible for you to resist?"

"You pretty much already have," I say breathlessly as his lips find my neck. "Oh, Kendall… don't make it harder than it already is…" I sigh as my eyes close in pleasure.

"Make what harder?" he feigns naivety as he brushes his hand along my member.

I gasp upon his touch.

"You're being cruel," I whine.

"You don't like it?"

"No, I like it too much… And I'm going to be late," I say to him.

He smiles and kisses my nose.

"Fine, I'll let you go to school. I wouldn't want to corrupt you or anything…" he teases.

I return his smile and start to get out of bed, but then I stop. I'm suddenly shy about him seeing me naked, which is silly since he saw much more of me last night.

"What's wrong?" his brows furrow when he catches on to my odd behavior.

"Could you… turn around?" I ask with a small blush.

"Seriously?" he arches a brow. "Logan, I think we're past that, don't you?"

"I know…" I scoff at my own absurdity. "It's just that I've never been, you know, naked around anyone."

"I'm not just anyone," he reminds me. And he's right. He isn't. "Besides, Logan, you have an amazing body. You have no reason to be embarrassed."

"Really?"

"Yes, _really_. In fact, just thinking about it right now is making me… alert," he says carefully with a boyish cute smile.

He really does know how to flatter and instill confidence in me. I realize that I am being childish, so I get up from out of the sheets. But Kendall pulls me back, slides his hand up my back and kisses it.

"So beautiful…" he compliments.

I can feel his cool breath hits my skin. I turn around, as he remains seated on the edge of the bed. He now kisses my torso. I run my hands up the back of his head and through his hair. I feel his wet tongue sweep up my skin.

"You're doing it again…" I moan.

"Doing what?" he says through a muffled voice.

"Seducing me when I should be getting ready."

He stops and looks up.

"It's you that's seducing me, good sir," he grins.

I bite my lower lip before I bend down and kiss him on the lips.

"Last night was incredible, just so you know," he comments.

"It was incredible for me, too. I never imagined I could ever feel that good."

"Well, hurry home and I'll show you it can feel even better," he says subtly arching a brow. "That's a promise."

My breath is almost taken from me upon hearing this. He is _beyond_ sexy. Everyone else simply pales in comparison. I can barely find words to cleverly respond, so I just clear my throat and mumble that I need to get moving if I want to make it to school on time. He frowns, but finally relinquishes me from his embrace, much to his and my own dismay.

I quickly get dressed. I throw on a striped V-neck t-shirt and pair it with some scuffed jeans. I barely make an effort in my outfit. Why should I? The only person I want to impress is Kendall and he accepts me for what I look like regardless. If anything, I think he prefers me _without_ clothes anyway.

As I close the door behind me, I see Kendall smiling at me and mouths 'have a good day'. I return his smile and then head for the bathroom. I quickly brush my teeth and comb my bedhead hair. It just looks like a big mess piled on top of my head. Now I understand what they mean about sex hair. I groan and simply turn the faucet on full blast and run my head underneath the running water. I towel dry it and shake off the excess water. _Hopefully this will help tame my kinky hair_, I think into the mirror.

I dash towards the door and slip on my sneakers, which has tracked a layer of dried mud from all the rain we've been getting. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and hurry off to school. When I run out of the house, I notice that Mom's car isn't in the driveway. She must have left early once again. I didn't even notice whether or not she was in her room earlier; I guess I was in too much of a mad rush that I forgot to take notice. I also don't recall hearing her come home last night. I can't help but wonder if she heard any, uh, strange sounds coming from my room last night.

Luckily, the sky is clear today. It actually feels like a real May morning. And there aren't any clouds in sight. I take this as a good sign; like our troubles have somehow dissipated… or at least temporarily been put aside.

Somehow, I make it to school with time to spare. I see a police cruiser parked in the school parking lot. It looks like they're not going away any time soon. The threat is still there—it always will be until they find Kendall. The thought twists my stomach into knots.

I get inside the school building, and I see Principal Griffin standing tall with his arms folded behind him, carefully observing the students meandering around the hall, as if he's a hawk ready to swoop down at any second. I quickly head to my first class to avoid any trouble.

Luckily, the first couple of periods go by fairly quickly. It's not until English class that the day seems to slow down. It must be the Shakespeare unit we're currently on. I hate Shakespeare. He was such a sap. Everything he wrote was tragic. Was the man really so opposed to the idea of a happy ending? For some odd reason this makes me think of Kendall. I can only hope that he will find his happy ending. He's lived enough tragedy to last a lifetime. I look up and finally pay some attention to today's lesson. Our English teacher, Ms. Wainwright, reads an excerpt from _Romeo & Juliet_.

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet," she recites aloud. "Anyone like to share their thoughts on what this famous quote could mean?"

She scans the room, and everyone is ducking their heads down, intentionally avoiding being picked to answer. I think about the quote for a moment—even though I've heard it countless times before—it has never occurred to me what it means. Maybe it was simply because of a lack of interest, but I've never really cared to fully understand the meaning of the quote.

_What's in name? That which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet_, I repeat the quote silently in my head.

Suddenly it dawns on me. I think I finally understand the famous Shakespearian quote. And not only that, but the quote actually resonates with me. I bravely raise my hand.

"Ah, Logan," Ms. Wainwright smiles, clearly excited that someone has volunteered to answer.

"Juliet is saying she doesn't care about Romeo's background—his past or present—or his class. After all, a name is just an artifice. It's not important; it's not definitive. It doesn't define who you are or what you stand for. It's what you do and how you express yourself that's indicative of who you are," I state.

"_Very_ good, Logan," she comments, looking impressed. "You're absolutely correct."

She continues her lesson as she reads other excerpts, which I tune out. I'm still thinking about that last quote. I think about Kendall. I think about how people immediately label him without giving him a chance. I was one of those people. I was wrong. I now am beginning to understand there's more to him than I first thought. Everyone else may see him as some punk kid, a criminal even. I realize that I've been chasing the idea of what shouldn't matter. Kendall isn't a cold-blooded killer. I know this. Some people deserve second chances. Some people deserve a clean slate. Some people deserve redemption. Some people were never given a fair chance to begin with. Kendall is one those people.

I don't know how long I got lost in thought, but the bell chimes and everyone gets up. I get up, too, and head to my next class.

The next couple of classes are mundane as usual. The only thing about today that's out of the ordinary is during lunch. Camille acts weird—well, weirder—than her usual self. She's actually surprisingly quiet and doesn't seem to make eye contact with me when I talk to her. Perhaps she's mad at me for being a bad friend lately. I'll admit; I haven't been giving her much of my time ever since Kendall has come into my life. I don't blame her if this is the case.

I so badly want to tell her about Kendall though. I want to tell her about how I've fallen in love, but I know it's not even an option. It's not that I think Camille will betray me and run to the cops with my secret, but it's more the fact that if I told anyone—even my best friend, or my own mother—that it will really be me who's betraying Kendall. And, that, I cannot do.

The rest of the day goes by slowly and uneventfully. By last period, I'm practically bouncing on the edge of my seat for the bell to ring so I can go home to Kendall. I quickly finish all my homework as Mr. Rocque gives his lecture. I don't want to be stuck with homework. I want to free up all my time so I can spend it with Kendall. I want to hold him, kiss him, make love with him… I briefly daydream about being under the sheets with Kendall. I imagine his hands roaming over my body… I imagine his lips upon my skin… I picture him directly over me, entering my body slowly but deeply…

I look down and I realize that I have an erection! Oh, damn!

I quickly cover myself with a notebook. I look around making sure no one noticed my, uh, pop-up tent. One of the Jennifers give me a dirty look, but I think that's the look the Jennifers give everyone anyway, so I don't think much of it. Then I see James Diamond, who smiles back at me, but he looks just as oblivious as ever, so I doubt he noticed.

I move my conveniently placed notebook aside and look down. My stiffness has disappeared, thank god. It's odd to think I used to look at James Diamond in class and fantasize about him. Now Kendall is all I can think about. James Diamond—as conventionally and indisputably good-looking as he is—just doesn't seem to have the same effect on me anymore. The bell rings signaling me that I can run home to my lover.

I bolt out of class, feeling jubilant at the thought of spending time with Kendall. I weave through the crowded halls and cut around the corner. I stop in my tracks when I see the sheriff at the end of the hallway.

"Shit," I curse to myself.

I see that he has stopped a few students at the main entrance, probably to collect any information he can get about Kendall's whereabouts. He really is persistent, which would be great any other time. Problem is, this time it directly conflicts with my own agenda, which is to keep Kendall hidden from them.

I can't let him stop and interrogate me again, because I haven't mastered the art of lying quite yet. Last time I only allowed him to snoop through our house because I knew I had nothing to hide, since Kendall was hidden in the woods. But, now that Kendall's back I have to stay under the radar as much as possible, as well.

I see the sheriff walking in my direction. I doubt he's seen me yet, especially through the sea of students, but I can't take the chance. I run back around the corner, but unfortunately I forget that this particular hallway is a dead end; there's no exit or stairwell for me to escape. I look to my left and see a door marked 'Janitor', which I assume to be Buddha Bob's supply closet. I decide it's as good of a hiding place as any at this point.

But when I open the door, I'm startled to see two students making out in the supply closet.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" I exclaim to the couple.

When they realize I'm there, they jump and turn around, looking just as startled. I see that the guy is Jett, but what alarms me the most is the girl he's kissing is… Camille!

"_Camille_?"

"Logan!" she gasps embarrassedly.

"Jett!" Jett calls out his own name for no reason. "Sorry, I just thought we were doing introductions."

"I can explain," Camille begins.

"Let me," Jett chimes in. "You see, Mitchell, Camille and I have been sneaking into the broom closet for close to a week now to make out. I'll understand if you want to punch me in the face. But could you just make sure you don't hit me too hard? I want to possibly use my prom photos as headshots."

"Shut up, Jett!" Camille yells, slapping Jett's arm. "Just… get out of here so I can talk to Logan, please!"

"Ok, fine!" he whines. "But we're still on for tonight, right?" he asks Camille in a low voice, even though I'm standing close enough that I can still hear the idiot.

Camille and I both roll her eyes.

"I'll call you!" Camille finally says.

"Sorry about making out with your prom date, Mitchell," Jett apologizes half-sincerely and half-smugly.

Jett grins like an idiot and walks away proudly.

"So… you and Jett?" I chuckle.

"I'm sorry! I wanted to tell you, I swear," she asserts.

"I'm not angry, Camille. I'm just… shocked," I clarify. "I mean wasn't it just a few weeks ago that you turned Jett down when you asked you to prom?"

"I know, I know… believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are that this happened."

"And exactly how _did_ this happen?" I ask out of curiosity.

"Well, around last week, when I tried to call you to see if you wanted to go to the mall with me again, you never answered. So, I went to the mall by myself—feeling rejected, may I add—and when I was shoe shopping I ran into Jett. He kept on insisting that I should go to prom with him, even after I told him I'm going with you. He was so annoying and kept following every store I went into. Then before you know it, we sort of… made out in my car," Camille explains with an embarrassed grimace.

"That makes more sense now. At lunch, I thought you were mad at me," I ask.

"What? No, of course not, Logan! I wasn't mad at you! I was mad at myself for not _telling_ you. I guess I was just feeling guilty."

"Why should you feel guilty, Camille? It's not like you and I are together," I try to console her.

"I know. I just feel like I've been lying to you," she says with shame.

I feel bad that she feels she's lost my trust when I can't trust anyone with a secret of my own, including her.

"Camille, you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. No one is perfect. I've been a bad friend to you lately. I haven't even paid attention to you. If I had, I would have known about you and Jett already. Do you like him?"

"You know, as crazy as it sounds… I do," she sighs.

I can tell in her eyes that she does like him. I know it because it's the same look I have when I'm with Kendall.

"Then you know what, Camille? You and Jett should definitely go to prom together."

"What? No, I couldn't do that you, Logan! We agreed to go together," she insists.

"No, I only agreed to go with you if you couldn't find anyone else. But, clearly you have, so it's fine. It's more than fine," I assure her.

"You can always come with us," she suggests.

"Thanks, but you already know how I feel about prom. And the last thing I want is to be a prom date's third wheel. It'll be nice to have a quiet night in this weekend."

"Logan Mitchell… you are so sweet and so selfless. Why must you be gay?" she jokes.

"I guess love just likes to play cruel jokes on us sometimes," I chuckle.

"Maybe in another life you and I can be together," she smiles as she holds my hand.

"I'm truly happy for you, Camille. I mean, it's _Jett_, but still…" I tease as I wrap my arm around her waist and the two of us walk down the hall together.

"Yeah, me too, actually," she smiles.

"You know, now that I'm thinking about it, the two of you actually make sense together. I mean, you like to talk about yourself and he likes to talk about himself. It's like a match made in heaven!" I joke.

"Ha ha… very funny, Logan Mitchell," she playfully rolls her eyes.

We come around the corner and I see that the hall has mostly cleared out, but more importantly that the sheriff is gone. I sigh from relief as Camille rambles on about Jett. I'm happy that she has found someone. I always suspected she held onto a small glimmer of hope that I would change for her, but I think now she can finally move on. I want to tell her that I'm happy, as well; that I've found someone I'm madly in love with… but I know that if I did, I would jeopardize everything. I would single-handedly betray the one person I swore I would protect.

Camille offers to drive me home since she has borrowed her dad's car for the day. Any other time, I would decline out of fear of her driving, but I'm too impatient to see Kendall so I take her up on her offer.

We get to my house in mere minutes. I thank Camille and quickly head in, waving bye to her as she zooms off. I drop my backpack at door and kick off my shoes. I enter my room and see a shirtless Kendall with his back to me. I marvel at his perfection and his distinct tattoos emblazoned all over his body. He finally turns around and gives me the biggest ear to ear smile I've ever seen—dimples and all. It's both adoring and a complete turn on.

"I believe you have a promise to keep," I remind him of our conversation this morning.

"Oh trust me, I haven't forgotten," he licks his lips.

I look him up and down; he's absolutely perfect.

"You're wearing too much," I observe of his wardrobe, even though he's only wearing pants.

He gives me an incredible sexy grin as his hands move down to his fly. His gaze never leaves mine however. He unzips himself and beckons me with a subtle tilt of his head.

"Come here and help me then," he smirks.

_No hesitation there_, I think to myself with a smile on my face.


End file.
